Runaway Mutants
by Alesford
Summary: Jules Blake is not your average teenager. She's a class four mutant from an upper-class family, forced to flee after her mutation is accidentally exposed. She journeys to the Xavier Institute in search of tolerance and acceptance. This is her journey.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Welcome, readers. This story, Runaway Mutants, is a rewrite of my very first piece of fanfiction, written seven years ago. From the original and its sequels, I have drawn events and left the occasional small reference to them. In this story, there are also nods to some of my favorite fanfiction authors, favorite fanfics, as well as some of my beloved television shows. If you squint real hard, you might be able to find them. This story is an AU. While I've included events from the X-Men movies, there are also bits taken from the comics, and some of the world is taken from my own imagination and ideas.

This story is complete, but I will be uploading chapters one at a time, weekly or bi-weekly. Reviews might sway me one way or another. That's a wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Thanks for reading, folks, and please read and review.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon characters, events, or other items associated with the X-Men and Marvel. Any other aforementioned trademark and copyright items and characters are also not mine. All of the original characters, however, do belong to me.

* * *

We never wished nor asked to be what we had become. It was roll of the dice, a statistical anomaly. We were a fraction of a fraction, but we could not fight eugenics.

By the time my twelfth birthday rolled around, the words _mutant_ and _Homo superior_ were still a rarity. The occasional political statement mentioning these genetic oddities flashed across the television screen or hidden away in the newspaper, but it was not yet at the forefront of concern.

But it was just after my twelfth birthday—one week and three days—that I began to notice something in me was changing. It was an accidental observation, at first. I was making pancakes on the flattop griddle my mother had bought (determined and truly believing that she would use it despite our numerous employed people, many of which more than capable (and often expected) of cooking for us). My hand had come to rest upon the hot top, idly as I turned to glance at the television not far from me. I cannot recall the segment or the cartoon that played, but I do remember the look of horror as one of the maids discovered me in the kitchen. I am less sure whether she was more horrified by my hand atop something hot enough to cook flesh or the fact that I was cooking without permission. When she ripped my hand from the griddle, turning it off (and ruining my blueberry pancakes), I was left unscathed. She claimed a miracle, but I knew it was something else when the heat of the griddle didn't affect me in the slightest of ways.

The second time I came to a greater understanding that I was different was far from accidental. My father always kept a box of matches on the right side of his second drawer—the one that held his socks and all the other items my mother and I were not supposed to know existed in our household. The keep of matches was meant for his recreational cigar-smoking, but I had other plans for them as I struck one against the box, watching it slowly burn.

I felt the warmth of the fire this time, but it was not burning nor scalding nor blistering. It provided stillness and a comfort that I still believe is indescribable. It felt absolutely natural as the flame caressed my fingers and swaddled my hand. And when the small wooden match was nothing more than soot and ash, the flame remained, hovering in its flickering glory just over my cupped palm. I watched it shift left and right, shrink and grow with a single thought. When I closed my fingers around the glowing ball of red and orange and yellow, the flames shifted to engulf my hand, and I stared in fascination as my flesh seemed to burn without burning, and I relished the sensation of my newfound ability.

The three years that followed were filled with traditional adolescent angst and continued indifference from never-present parents and too-busy hired hands. The apathy and the silence were chased away by dancing flames, practicing, honing, and understanding. I would sit in front of an unlit candle, willing that spark within my own hands. Then, there would be that transference of that small vestige of flame to the wick and waiting for that sound—that sound when the fire catches and you know the wick is burning and not merely entertaining the heat of the offered gift. And at fifteen, when I could call upon the fire with a simple shift in thought, I thought I knew power, but in the two more years to come, a second mutation manifested, and the process of learning and growing began again. Daily practices of drawing fire turned to floating books across the room, sweeping without touching the broom as it swept along the wood floors, and making my bed by only thinking. The world was my playground to burn and to bend to my will, and I felt strong.

Then something changed, and every other word broadcasted or printed was mutant this or that—civil rights, domestic security, international agendas, registration laws. It was a flurry of activity and information, and for the first time, I was afraid of what my genes had dictated I become. Every step, every movement was careful, cautious, fearful of hinting at what I really was. A mutant.

It was a careless move, one without thought and guided solely by reflex. It happened when I was seventeen, waiting for class to begin. It was an easy class, but it was enjoyable all the same. Seventh hour concert band was a close-knit group; we had been together since we were nine. We stumbled through music, struggled with fingerings and the correct way to buzz through a mouthpiece or make a reed vibrate. But none of the familial connections mattered when some klutz ran into a precariously balanced upright base, and I thoughtlessly caught it midair with my ability.

It was my outstretched arm that gave me away, focused on the large instrument as I guided it into a more suitable (and safe) position. When I turned to face my peers, I saw their looks—some were fearful, some were intrigued and curious, and some knowing. But at that moment, I knew I was no longer safe. My secret was no longer a secret, and news of lynch mobs and special police had not escaped my ears.

So I grabbed my bag, and I ran.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for, readers, and those of you who reviewed. Here is the next chapter, as well as the third. Enjoy, and please review.

* * *

The clomps and clacks of shoes behind me meant I was not alone as I hurtled through the vacant hallways of the school. I ignored them as I skidded to a halt in front of my locker, my urgency and "flight" response outweighing my personal regard for school property as I ripped the locker door from its hinges with a rather obnoxious screech.

"Jules, wait!" were the words that registered in my mind, as I finally took note of who had followed me. Hannah Marsh and Paul Dawson were breathing heavily only a few feet away. "Wherever you're going, we want to go with you."

Paul rested a hand on a nearby locker, eyes fluttering slightly as a slick sheen of ice quickly ensconced it. With a focused look from Hannah and another audible crash—people would start to wander out of classrooms at all the ruckus—the metal door frozen beneath the ice broke away and fell to the linoleum floor. "We're mutants, too," Paul added quite unnecessarily.

I couldn't help but ask myself, _Why me?_ But I understood their desire not to be alone; we were safer in numbers, to know we had allies at our side and watching our backs. Three teenagers travelling together would be much less suspicious than one travelling alone.

"Go home and grab only what you need. Meet at my place in half an hour." I tossed my unneeded bag into the locker, grabbing the only thing I wanted from it; a business card on the top shelf with the name and number of a woman who had lectured two months earlier on molecular biology. She had singled me out afterwards; she had _known_.

With only nods from Hannah and Paul, we went our separate ways as heads began to poke out from behind closed doors to see what had transpired in the hallway. We were gone before they could register the damage.

Despite the number of faculty patrolling the hallways and the handful of Rent-A-Cops they had on the premises, it was incredibly easy to slip away from the campus unnoticed. It was even easier after having done it multiple times throughout my time in high school. Prior knowledge and previous practice had me on my motorcycle and to my home in little time.

The house staff never questioned my early returns home during the week. I was nicer to them than my parents, and I often helped when they were overworked, as they often were. So when I peeled into the garage and sprinted to my room, there were no second glances or questions. And when I tore back down the stairs with my raggedy, old, canvas duffel slung over my shoulder and a satchel in my hands, they ignored it.

I moved past two maids in the kitchen and slipped into the garage and flipped the light on. The number of automobiles would have made any car fanatic or mechanic salivate; often, I could stand at the entryway and bask in the glory of the shiny metal and mechanical genius, but now was not one of those times as I stepped with purpose towards the largest pickup truck in the garage. I tossed my duffel and satchel into the bed with ease before hurrying back into the house to gather an assortment of blankets, flashlights, and non-perishable foods to stack in there, as well.

A soft rap on the doorframe caught my attention as one of the maids looked on with curiosity. "Miss Blake, Miss Marsh and Mister Dawson are in the foyer. Should I send them here?"

"Yes, please. Thank you," I said hurriedly. With a nod, she scampered away, and moments later, my two peers appeared with bags in hand. Paul helped me lift them into the bed and secure a tarp over the top. I glanced towards the hooks of keys across the garage and two sets flew into my hand by thought. I tossed one set to Paul.

"Are you not driving with us?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I'll lead in front of you on my bike. I can't leave her here."

"Where are we headed?" Hannah was already halfway into the truck, as Paul rounded it towards the driver's side.

"New York. There's a woman there that can help us." I grabbed my helmet and secured it on my head before straddling my motorcycle. "You guys ready to run away?" I asked over the roar of the engines. With affirmative nods, I kicked off, hearing the truck kick into gear behind me as we pulled out of the garage and started off towards a life away from this one.

We were runaways. Three mutant teenagers with no fixed place to go and only a plan to drive halfway across the country based on a hunch. My hunch.

We were screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

We drove. We ate, and then we slept. That first night we discovered that cheap motels—the ones where they take cash, don't ask questions, and don't look at you—are a step down from sleeping in the bed of a pickup truck. The truck bore no questionable stains, no cockroaches, and no mold, and it was infinitely cheaper, as well. We forwent the money we paid the grubby man behind the counter and took to the car instead.

We had only been on the road for a few hours, but the paranoia and the adrenaline made the drive feel much longer as we stuck to the less-travelled roads until we felt safe enough to slip onto the interstate. It was just before midnight when I slipped away, dredging the business card from my pocket and wandering around the parking lot until I could find a decent signal for my cell phone.

The voice that answered was groggy, though unperturbed, and was the same voice I recognized from the lecture. "Ms. Grey?" I asked.

"Hello? Who is this?" she responded.

"Jules Blake. We met a few months ago after you gave a lecture at my school in St. Louis. I understand it's late but you said to call if something happened."

"Jules, right. Sorry, just give me a second." I could hear her muffle the phone with her hand as she told somebody else to go back to sleep. The sound of ruffling sheets and feet scuffling across a rug or carpet followed by the gentle click of a door opening and closing echoed softly through the earpiece. "What's going on?" she finally asked.

"Something happened. I panicked and ran, and two others decided to come with me. We're in Peoria, Illinois, right now. We're headed to Westchester—it should only take us a couple more days to get there."

An audible sigh echoed in my ear. "I can meet you in Chicago. Do you think you three can safely get to Lincoln Park by two tomorrow afternoon?"

I calculated the math but decided that I wouldn't question her ability to make such a trip in such a limited amount of time. If she was a mutant as I suspected and worked with others that were mutants, the possibilities of power at her hands were unfathomable.

"We can do that," I told her.

"Good. Now, go get some sleep and drive safe. I'll see you tomorrow." A repeat of the earlier sounds in reverse played through the phone before a soft goodnight before I heard the familiar click of the call ending.

As I hoisted myself back onto the bed of the truck and settled onto the pallet of blankets, I noticed Hannah's brown eyes studying me through the dark. "Where were you?" she whispered.

"I had to make a phone call. I'm trying to find us a safe place to go," I told her just as quietly.

Her brow furrowed in thought, and I saw traces of a frown even through the dark. "Is any place safe anymore for us? People like us—mutants?" Her voice did not tremble but I could feel the fear laced within the words. She was afraid, for herself, for us, for our kind that was merely a result of evolution.

"I'd like to think that we have a chance where we're going."

I hoped, I wished, and I prayed to a god I wasn't sure existed that we could get there safely and find some semblance of safety and normalcy.


	4. Chapter 4

We weren't going to make it to Chicago by two o'clock if the two lumps still asleep refused to stir. "We need to get moving," I urged again, nudging Hannah more forcefully than my first three attempts. As the last traces of my patience faded, I telekinetically hoisted Hannah from her position and settled her into the cab after shifting Paul into a sitting position. The ride would be cramped, but it was for three hours, and we were losing time already.

I gathered the random items that had haphazardly been thrown off the truck to make room to sleep and settled them back into place before hoisting my motorcycle and securing it to the vehicle. While it hadn't been physically exhausted, it was mentally tiring, and I knew that if anything else hindered our way before we got to Chicago, there very well could have been a trail of ashes leading to that park.

Hannah and Paul had awakened an hour into the drive and quickly began complaining about the tight space. Without a word, I pulled off the highway at the nearest rest stop and with Paul's help, moved my motorcycle back onto the road.

Paul had disappeared to the restroom, and Hannah was relaxing against the side of the truck, while I sat on my bike. That was when it—a large, burly man furrier than one of my mother's coats but human just the same—stalked towards us with a disgusting gleam in his black eyes. "Hey, girly," he drawled, eyeing me as if I was a piece of meat. "You should let me give you a ride on that bike of yours. I can show you things you probably ain't ever dreamed of."

"No thank you," I said curtly.

"Aw, c'mon," he pushed, taking two steps too many closer towards me.

"Back off," I snapped.

"Jules," I heard Hannah's voice grow wary. She knew I was telekinetic and she knew I was strong, but she had yet to witness the full extent of my abilities. My mutation classified me as highly dangerous, and I knew my volatile nature just added another strike to my name.

The man moved forward again, and with a forceful push from my mind, he was flying backwards into the nearest tree. The crack of the wood splintering was akin to a whip, and I could see him fall lifelessly to his side. The blow wasn't enough to kill him, I was fairly sure, but he would be unconscious and rethink just how charming he thought himself to be.

"What'd I miss?" Paul asked as he wiped his hands dry on the thighs of his jeans.

"Nothing," I told him, pulling my helmet on and revving up my bike. Hannah, awestruck and quite possibly afraid—of him or me, I don't know—climbed back into the truck, and without speaking anymore, we were merging onto the interstate once more, heading northwards to the Windy City.

Two hours passed quickly, and despite the chilly weather, people were happily meandering through the park. We waited idly, parked at one of the sidewalks and sitting in the bed of the truck. I reached for my cell phone to try Jean again for more information about the rendezvous, but the ringing went quickly to voicemail.

"So, uh, what are we supposed to do now?" Paul asked.

"We wait. It's just after two. She'll be here."

A sidelong glance at Paul and I knew he was preparing another question. Before he could speak (or I could shove him against the truck), another voice intervened. "Looks like you three could use a lift." It was a voice I recognized but not the voice I was expecting.

"Mrs. Crawford?" Hannah asked before I could.

Debra Crawford, advanced placement biology teacher, was one of those teachers that every student liked. She was the 'buddy' of the student population, and much to the chagrin of parents and other faculty alike. Nobody could fault her, though; her class was tough, and she graded fairly. She merely treated her students with respect and offered the assistance they needed to do well (survive) in her class.

There were rumors, of course—a supposed blacklist of students and faculty that were or could possibly be _Homo superiors. _While I had never seen a physical list, her name had hovered in the cloud of suspicion, and her presence here seemed only to confirm the validity of her place on that list.

"You're here with Ms. Grey?" I questioned.

She nodded, shifting her weight from one side to the other. "We thought you would feel more comfortable with a familiar face leading the way. There's a jet waiting in a more secluded section of the park not far from here."

"A jet?" Paul croaked.

"We can explain more once we're all safe on the plane and on our way to Westchester." She grabbed one of the bags from the trunk bed, and urged the rest of us to follow suit. I hoisted my duffel over my shoulder and onto my back before swinging a leg over my motorcycle. My former teacher only quirked an eyebrow in questioning response.

"You know I'm not leaving without her."

"It's just about half a mile in that direction." She hitched a finger towards a dense plot of woods. "Stealth, Jules. Don't be so… conspicuous." I flashed a half-smirk before pushing off, leaving the three of them to walk.


	5. Chapter 5

"You must be Jules." A woman with long, white hair stood at the base of the ramp leading into the rather large jet. Her arms were crossed defensively, as she gave me the once-over. "Where are the others?"

"Feet tend to be slower than wheels," I said with a shrug. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized me even further.

"Come on. Let's get you situated before the others arrive." She turned on heel and motioned for me to follow her up the ramp and into the aircraft. "My name is Ororo Munroe. Most of the students you will encounter at the mansion call me Storm. You may set your things and leave your bike near those other containers."

I studied her as she moved and gave commands without looking at me. She held a power and grace of authority that most people liked to believe or pretend they possessed, but she had each word, each movement perfected. When I had my belongings secure, she turned around to face me again.

"I'm going to go and wait for the others. Jean's wandering around here somewhere. I imagine she'll want to speak with you."

And without another word, she swept passed me and disappeared the way we came, leaving me to go in the opposite direction.

I found the familiar redhead sitting at the console in the cockpit monitoring various radio channels and other technological items far beyond what I knew. I stood for a moment, quietly; she seemed not to have noticed my presence.

**Shouldn't sneak up on people**. The voice reverberated in my mind and I jumped in surprise. She was a telepath—I should have known. **Telekinetic, too, like you.** I quickly clamped down on my thoughts, attempting (hoping) to force her from my head. The sensation disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Sorry. I don't usually intrude like that. The opportunity to spook wasn't one I could pass up, sadly." She swiveled in the chair to face me.

Her hair was much shorter than it was three months ago, cropped and flared just so, but nonetheless just as fiery a red as I remembered. Green eyes watched me with curiosity and something else (concern?) before she stood and stepped closer towards me.

"I'm glad you called. Deb—Mrs. Crawford—rang a few hours before you, and told me of the unfortunate situation at your school."

"'Unfortunate situation'?" I repeated back to her, puzzled.

"After your little show in the band room and then in the hallway—" Mrs. Crawford's voice echoed as she made her way into the seating area from the rear of the jet. "Principal Slater made an immediate call to have mutant detection measures installed, faculty tested, and suspected students suspended. I imagine you'll be reconnecting with a handful of your former classmates in the coming weeks."

I paled and felt a comforting hand—Jean's—on my shoulder. I hadn't thought about the consequences of my little outburst at the high school. The repercussions that others—other mutants—might face because of my actions. It was idiotic of me to think they wouldn't instigate something akin to a witch hunt for others.

I clenched my jaw and steeled my repose. "It was inevitable," I responded nonchalantly. A blanket of awkward silence settled over the six of us before I finally spoke again. "Should we get moving?"

Jean nodded and stepped away, resuming her seat at the controls and Ororo taking the seat beside her. "If everybody could sit down and buckle up, we'll be on our way back to Westchester."


	6. Chapter 6

"It's a school," Hannah whispered as we exited the elevator from the lower levels beneath the building.

When we first arrived in the hangar, I had thought us to be in something like a secure government facility, but Jean had been quick to explain. "The tunnels and rooms down here are off-limits to students without expressed permission or an escort. I'll leave it to the Professor to explain further if he thinks it's necessary."

The urge to roam, explore, and understand was almost overwhelming. The sterility of the facility brought question upon question in my mind, and my curiosity was piqued. But Jean, Ororo, and Mrs. Crawford had ushered Paul, Hannah, and I towards and elevator, and when the doors opened with a soft _ding_, we were inside an expansive mansion. Children of all ages wandered the halls, not even giving us a second glance as they passed.

"Welcome to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters—fondly referred to by some as 'Mutant High'. We'll get you three settled in after you meet with Professor Xavier."

"We'll talk later," Mrs. Crawford offered as she waved goodbye and disappeared down the hallway with Ororo at her side.

"This way," Jean instructed, guiding us up a nearby set of stairs and through a near identical hallway as that on the first level. She stopped us in front of a large, closed door. Before she could lift a hand to knock, a gentle voice beckoned us inside.

Paul pushed the door open, and filed inside with Hannah, Jean, and I just behind him. Behind the desk and surrounded by loose papers and books was an older man with no hair, strong features but a kind and fatherly face. "Please, sit down," he requested. We did as he asked, though Jean remained standing behind us. "My name is Charles Xavier, and I am the founder of this school. I hope your journey was not too stressful?"

"It wasn't too stressful," Hannah told him, squirming slightly in her chair. I imagine she had noticed what I had just observed; his chair was not a comfortable office chair but a wheelchair. His eyes grazed over me with a knowing look but without question. Another telepath.

"Good. I am glad to hear that. Perhaps some introductions are in order? You know that I am Professor Xavier and the woman behind you is Dr. Jean Grey. You've already met Ororo, and you're acquainted with Mrs. Crawford, as well. Let's get to know you three, shall we?"

"I'm Hannah Marsh, and thank you so much, Sir, for taking us in like this."

He smiled a pleasant smile. "It is what we do here, Hannah. What can you tell me about your gift that has brought you to us?"

She looked at him, confused, before it dawned on her that he spoke of her mutation when he spoke of her '_gift_'. "I can manipulate metal, kind of like a low-powered magnet? The thing with the locker back at school was about the biggest thing that I can do. But it's useful when I can't find my keys."

Professor Xavier chuckled softly and nodded in understanding before shifting his gaze to Paul. "And what about you?"

"My name's Paul Dawson. I can, uh, freeze things. But like Hannah said, what happened with the locker—I can't really do much more than that. It's mostly just a parlor trick."

I felt four pairs of eyes shift their attention to me, and it made my skin crawl in discomfort. I shifted in my seat before looking up to meet the professor's scrutiny.

"Jules Blake. Telekinesis and pyrokinesis, but I don't know how you can call them gifts when they landed us in this situation. We're runaways. Our teacher lost her job and her family because of genetics. How many kids here were kicked out of their homes, ostracized by their families, their peers? It's all fun and games to say you have superpowers, but in the end, even with this power, we're in hiding. We're not welcome in the world."

"We understand your frustrations, Jules. I assure you. It's one of the reasons you've seen Jean and others in a political light. We are trying to change society for the better and find equal footing in the world," Professor Xavier consoled.

I wanted to scoff. I was seventeen and annoyed at the world like any normal teenager would be, and he offered drivel about politics, equality, and tolerance. But who was I to complain? It wasn't as if I had a home to return to, as if I hadn't roused trouble and suspicion from where I had run.

I glanced through the window behind the professor and caught a glimpse of a young man around my age burning flowers in his hands, and for the briefest of moments, I hoped that we could find something here to make it all worth it. We could be normal here when nobody here was normal.

"Jean, why don't you show these three to their rooms and let them get settled in? I am sure it has been a long couple of days."

And with that dismissal, we were back on our feet and through the door, headed up another set of stairs and down another hallway where three rooms with open doors were. Our bags had already been placed inside.

"Every two rooms share an adjoining bathroom, and you might end up with a roommate sooner or later as students come and go. For now, though, the professor and I thought you would appreciate the privacy to get situated," Jean explained.

"Thank you, for everything," Hannah smiled. Paul nodded in agreement, and I hitched my chin in acknowledgment of the words.

"Do you need anything else?"

"We're good," I answered for the three of us.

When neither Paul nor Hannah said anything contrary, Jean nodded. "Dinner's at seven if you're hungry. I'll leave you three alone, now."

With a slight wave, we watched her receding form back down the hallway and descending the stairs before turning to face one another. "Well, here we are," Hannah said awkwardly.

"Westchester, New York," Paul added.

"In a school for mutants."

We all agreed on a single word to define our situation: weird.


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner was filled with another slew of introductions. I avoided the younger students, and even still shied away from those my own age. There were mumbled greetings and murmured names, and everybody acted as if three new strangers in their school—their home—was not an odd occurrence.

I met a handful of others whose names I actually could recall. There was Rogue, Kitty, Bobby, and John. There were other names within the chatter of former students and allies that came and went as they pleased. Hank, Kurt, Emma, Warren, Logan, and Remy were the names I managed to retain.

It was after supper that I discovered the mansion was something akin to a maze. There were a variety of hidden passages and out-of-the-way staircases that the older students navigated with ease. I, however, had gotten turned around in a second level corridor.

**Turn left at the end of the hallway. There's a staircase that will lead you to the wing of the dormitories where your room is.**

The voice in my mind caused me to jump in surprise. When I was fourteen, I had come across an older gentleman in the park not far from my home. His raggedy suit and haggard appearance gave away his homelessness, but he carried himself in a polite and kind way, and most might think he was a man just down on his luck.

To me, he had revealed himself as a mutant – a telepath – who had used his ability to skim basic thoughts one too many times at the blackjack table. He had been arrested, tested, his earnings taken, and learnt the abandonment of a wife and son. Now, he took to sitting in the park to perform odd parlor tricks of 'Pick a card, any card' in an attempt to earn a passerby's pity and perhaps a few dollars.

I brought him a thermos of coffee and a hot breakfast from home the next day, and he continued to demonstrate his minor mutation to me, as I spoke (hypothetically) to him about my own. But during the week that I came to know this man, his intrusion into my mind was rarely noticed and was never quite as abrupt. He could not delve and he could not project, and so when suddenly surrounded by at least two powerful telepaths, I still was not in my own zone of comfort.

It was hard not to attempt to lash out mentally at the intruder – not that I could inflict any sort of damage or pain, as I was not a telepath. Instead, I settled for words (or thoughts) and attempted to convey my frustration through emotion. Do you make it a habit of stalking new students?

**You were projecting your thoughts rather loudly, and my room is four doors back from where you are. Do you make it a habit to be rude to those merely trying to help?**

I didn't respond, and instead, I followed the instructions to find my room quickly. **Thank you.** I finally sent back, though probably somewhat more curt than polite and quite obviously reluctantly.

**You're welcome.** I could feel her grin in the words, and I wanted to dislike her, but for the first time in seventeen years, somebody was paying attention to me, and for once, I didn't feel quite as alone.


	8. Chapter 8

It was just after midnight when I rolled off of the unruffled bed, still fully clothed and not at all tired. The stars and moon shone brightly outside, and when I opened my window just slightly, I could sense that it was colder here in New York than in Missouri. The wind was wind to me, neither hot nor cold, unless I focused on its caress or slap; then, sometimes, I could discern the temperature.

When I was fifteen, in a Midwestern weather-like fashion, the temperature shifted from a warm seventy degrees in mid-March to a stifling thirty-something degrees overnight. Snow accumulated, melted slightly, froze, and accumulated again. Schools closed and roads were covered in a thick blanket of white quickly turning brown as cars attempted to traverse the streets (usually with little luck and no thought for their own safety). In that cold, I felt my body thrum with energy and heat, and I am sure if anybody had felt my skin or taken my temperature, they would quickly desire to send me straight to the hospital. It was also in that snowy, cold, and wet spring that I discovered my physical aversion to the colder and wetter elements.

When heat and fire did not burn, ice and colder water did. My telekinesis began to show itself that week, and it was only years later that I surmised it as my body's way of adapting, to learn to create a barrier between myself and the cold that scalded my skin. But at that time, it was still inescapable and so I hid indoors while my peers took to sledding, snowball fights, and snow angels.

Nobody in my house noticed that I had not left my room to play outside.

So when I closed the window and stepped outside of the room with a soft click of the door closing behind me, I did not remember that this place was different. People noticed when you spoke or did not speak, when you ate or did not eat, where you went and from whence you came. Despite the number of inhabitants, nobody at the Xavier Institute seemed capable of invisibility – even those physically capable of it.

I did not remember this fact until I had wandered my way to the garage where rows upon rows of cars and vehicles were parked. The image reminded me of my house in St. Louis, of the gifts and splurges of my absent parents. The cars here were less of classics and more of muscle, power, and speed. I assumed most did not belong to students, and I assumed the rack of bicycles on the right side of the garage belonged to them. But closer to me, I saw what was mine – my beloved motorcycle that sat beside the truck for and about which I never much cared, and did not understand why Jean had deemed it necessary to retrieve and bring to the mansion.

It was when I had made my way to the motorcycle and felt it shift beneath me as I sat that I remembered the fact of non-invisibility within the mansion. It was the scrape of a match that caught my attention, a sound I knew better than most. I could sense the radiating heat of the small flame even from where I sat, and when I glanced back towards the entrance to the mansion, it was near impossible not to notice the gruff man with a cigar clenched in his mouth.

"Who're you?" he asked. Despite the roughness of his voice, the question was unthreatening. With his tone, I wondered if he even cared who I was or what I was doing.

"Who are you?" I challenged.

"Logan," he responded, taking a puff off of the cigar before crossing his arms in a way that I read as, _I told you, now you tell me._

"Jules. Am I going to wake up the entire house if I start this bike?"

"Wheel it to the end of the driveway and then kick it."

"Any other advice?" I asked with a raised eyebrow as I began to push the motorcycle towards garage doors.

He took another drag. "Avoid Scott when you get back."

"Haven't met him."

"Lucky you."


	9. Chapter 9

I took my time as I drove away from the mansion, making a mental note of certain possible markers to find my way back through the winding roads of the more secluded area of Westchester. I imagined the worst case scenario would be calling Jean to give me directions back to the institute. The aftermath of that, however, was something I was not going to predict. Logan had let me leave without much trouble; I hoped the redhead would be a fraction as nonchalant as the cigar-smoking man.

Westchester seemed to be a fairly quiet city at one in the morning, but the suburb reminded me of my own. I passed through town on what seemed to be the main road, spotting a "Welcome to North Salem of Westchester County, New York" sign along it. The population was a fraction of that of my own St. Louis town. I passed the elementary school and later the middle school-high school and I had still seen only a handful of other people roaming the town.

It only took an hour of this before I grew bored. Mental marker by mental marker, I made my way back to the Xavier Institute without too much difficulty. The garage was void of any other life as I wheeled my bike back inside, and I couldn't help but think Logan's warning was unnecessary as I slipped back into the mansion. The oven clock read 3:31 in a vibrant green, as I crept through the kitchen, but my luck had quite obviously reached its end.

A flick of the light switch illuminated the spacious room and revealed to me a disgruntled (and somewhat disheveled) man.

"You must be Scott," I said, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

"You're the troublemaker who decided to go for a joyride after midnight."

"I don't think calling me a troublemaker is fair. This here?" I motioned at the space between us. "This is the first time we've met, so I would imagine you don't know me well enough to judge."

He scoffed along with something akin to a snort. "Storm told me about an attitude problem. I didn't think I'd have to deal with it within the first twenty-four hours of your arrival, though."

"I'm a displaced seventeen-year-old mutant. You can't tell me that you didn't have an attitude problem in your adolescence." I leaned back slightly on the stool, crossing my arms and challenging him to deny what I had said.

He didn't.

"There's a curfew here. While the Professor doesn't expect you to begin classes until next week, _we_ are still expecting you to obey the rules we have in place."

"Yeah, well, nobody gave me a run-down of the do's and do not's when I arrived."

He reached up with his hand, tiredly rubbing his eyes beneath the red-colored sunglasses he wore. I assumed they were to hide or control his mutation, but nobody had yet informed me of the various abilities of the faculty.

"Scott?" I recognized Jean's voice as she appeared at Scott's side in the kitchen doorway. She looked tired and slightly dazed. "What's going on?"

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her messy red hair. "Nothing. Go back to sleep." My eyes must have widened and I must have started projecting my thoughts because I immediately saw and felt green eyes focus in on me.

"Jules, curfew's at eleven on a weeknight."

I shot a glare at Scott. "All you needed to say, Shades," I snapped as I swept passed the couple to return to my room.

"The discussion was not over," Scott's voice boomed as loud as one will politely boom after midnight in a crowded mansion.

I continued walking without turning around, lifting my hand to offer a _gesture_ of understanding. I could only imagine the sneer that drew across his face and that thought alone brought an expression of satisfaction to my own features.

I was surprised, nonetheless, when neither Scott nor Jean followed me to my room, bursting in with or without a knock of warning. I was even more surprised when I did not hear Jean's chastising voice within my mind as I sprawled aimlessly on the double-size bed.

I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come and for the restlessness to fade. The attempt, however, was useless, and I allowed my eyelids to flutter open to stare into the darkness of the room around me. With an easy snap of my fingers, a warm orange bathed the walls and ceiling as the small flame in my hand cast dancing shadows on the walls.

The flame expanded, the vibrant oranges stretching into the brilliant reds and golds. I watched it—willed it to—writhe and twist in the air, a tendril of fire weaving in the open space. I couldn't help but smile as it shifted slightly to take the form of a bird. The Phoenix—a creature whose majesty I could never come close to emulating.


	10. Chapter 10

I awoke to the sound of a shower running in the bathroom attached to my room. It was still early, only six in the morning, but I remembered the day (Friday) and that I was living in a mansion that also served as a school for mutants. "Normal" people were not awake at three-thirty in the morning on a school day, and six was not an obscene hour at which to wake when there were classes to attend.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and stared blankly at the room still foreign to me. It had your basic amenities times two—an average-sized closet, a dresser with a mirror, a chair and desk, a small bookshelf, and the bed upon which I sat. The same setup was mirrored on the opposite side of the room for the roommate I did not have.

My piece of crap (but sentimental) duffel sat near the closet door, unopened since our arrival the day before. There was nothing in it of value, nothing binding me to my previous life. Beside it was perhaps the only item I brought that denoted my wealthy background, and it was, perhaps, the most pretentious item I owned. The black leather satchel carried the distinct lettering of 'Burberry', and it was quite possibly the gift from my parents that I valued most.

I stared at the messenger bag for a moment before telekinetically bringing it to me. My fingers moved comfortably across the straps, swiftly opening the bag to reveal the twill check interior. It was its contents that interested me most as I removed three books from its pocket. I traced the lettering with my forefinger before climbing off the bed with the texts in hand. I squatted before the small bookshelf, slowly placing them on one of the shelves.

A gentle rap on my door caught my attention and reflexively (as maids often needed into my room to clean or fetch something) called out, "Come in." When the thought of where I was returned to me, I wished to mentally chide myself for being so open, and secretly wished the person on the other side of the door had not heard me above the shuffling feet and giggling voices drifting in from the hallway. The door, however, opening slowly, revealing the redhead with whom I was quickly becoming mentally familiar.

"Hey. Did you sleep well?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe while cradling a mug of steaming coffee.

"They were the best two and a half hours of sleep I've ever had," I deadpanned, pushing to my feet to face her from my place beside the bookcase.

"I wouldn't have thought you a Vonnegut fan." Jean hitched her chin in acknowledgment of the newly placed books.

I ignored her comment and crossed my arms over my chest. "Did you need something?"

She shifted on her feet, and for a moment, I thought she might be dejected by my brusque question—only for a moment. "Classes start in a little over an hour, so everybody's swarming the kitchen for breakfast. I know it's early and you don't have to be anywhere, but there are hardly breadcrumbs left by nine on Fridays. I thought you might like to get downstairs before the food's gone."

One of the faces I'd come to recognize appeared just behind Jean. I focused on her for a moment, trying to summon the name to match the face. "You should listen to Jean. People here are kind of pigs. I'm sorry, by the way, if I woke you up when I was in the shower. It's been a while since Rogue and I have had to share it with another roomie."

Kitty. That was her name, and she was one of my suitemates.

"Anyways, I'm heading down there now if you wanna come with." She tilted her head just slightly, the question lingering in the air. I looked to Jean who had an urging look to her green eyes, and I must have nodded because her lips upturned slightly.

"Just let me change shirts," I said quickly. "I'll meet you in the hall."

She gave a quick and enthusiastic 'Okay!' before disappearing from my line of sight. Jean just smiled wider and nodded before doing the same and closing the door behind her. I sighed what I imagined was an audible sigh, as I grabbed my duffel by one of the handles and haphazardly flung it into the bed. I unbuttoned the shirt I was wearing and tossed it aside before grabbing the first clean t-shirt in the bag and putting it on.

"Ready," I said as I pulled open the door and stepped out to meet up with my new housemate.


	11. Chapter 11

Meals on Fridays, Kitty explained, were free-for-alls. The kitchen staff restocked the pantry and fridge on Friday afternoons, and allowed students and faculty free-range. Most meals were served like the previous night's dinner—a vast amount of food made and served in the cafeteria. This was to ensure that everybody had the opportunity to eat. Kitty further explained, however, that older students and faculty were allowed to cook for themselves and eat when they wished.

In the process of explaining this, she invited me to eat dinner with her, Rogue, Bobby, and John that night. And during that process, she also said to tell Paul and Hannah that they, too, were welcome.

As we walked to the kitchen, I discovered that Kitty Pryde enjoyed talking. She seemed more of a nervous rambler, though I attributed the chattiness to the fact that I was "the new kid" and had revealed less about myself the day before than Paul or Hannah. In addition to disclosing the information about meal times, she spoke about teachers, classes, and peers.

Most of the talk went in one ear and out the other, as I made a mental note of each corridor and staircase we passed, moved through, or on. I had no desire to find myself lost again.

In the kitchen, she showed me her secret stash of Cap'n Crunch that she'd hidden in the wall (and thus only she could properly access with her phasing ability). I smiled and thanked her as she offered me a bowl, and she returned her cereal to its inaccessible location before leading me to a table where my friends (and hers) were already sitting.

"Hey," I greeted, taking a seat beside Paul. A returned chorus of greetings met my ears, and the group settled into quiet conversation. Paul and Bobby bonded over their similar mutation while the other girls bonded over subjects that never interested me—clothes, shoes, makeup, and boys. The separation of topics left the other tablemate and I to make nice.

We had yet to be introduced formally, but Jean had pointed him out as "the other arsonist". He was the boy I saw out the window when we sat in the office of Professor Xavier, and I'd come to hear about him as the common friend between Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue.

"John Allerdyce," he said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

With a single thought, I jerked the chair back down to rest on four legs instead of two. "Jules Blake."

He drew a lighter from his pocket and that's the first time I heard it.

It's a sound that will forever be burned into my brain, and one I heard far too often and yet became addicted to hearing. It was the _flick-click_ of a Zippo lighter, and it was a sound that nothing else could replicate. The movement of it in his hand was smooth and practiced, and with the suavity (with a hint of arrogance) with which he opened and closed it, one might never know it was a nervous habit.

He did it once more, but the scrape of the flint sounded between the _flick_ and _click_, and in that in-between moment, the freshly produced flame arced from the lighter to his unoccupied hand. "Heard you like fire, too."

I sat up straighter in my chair before lifting my hand. I felt his eyes study my every move, waiting curiously to see what I was about to do. With my thumb and middle finger, I flicked at the air, creating a small flame that went spiraling towards him, stopping only inches from his face. His eyes narrowed on the fireball before him, and with the release of my focus and the addition of his, he drew it into his own flame.

"Heard you can still be burned." He merely shrugged, and I imagined that to him it wasn't as much of an insult as it would have been to me.

Fire was my tool, my power, and my protection. It strengthened me, and it was what came first and defined me as what I became. To think that something I could create and control with ease could so easily harm me felt like a weakness, a flaw. But John Allerdyce knew nothing else, and his perspective on the mutation was not the same as mine. We were alike, but we were not the same.

"You coming to dinner tonight?" he asked, extinguishing the flame in his palm.

I killed the conversation with a single-word answer. "No."

He looked somewhat surprised but quickly regained his nonchalant display and turned his attention to the bowl of cereal in front of him. All the while, I could feel somebody's eyes on me, and I felt no need to search to know to whom they belonged.

**Look, Mom, I'm making friends already.**

I thought I could feel her scowl in my mind.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you to all of those that have reviewed this story, added it to your alerts, and/or added it to your favorites. It's much appreciated and well-received. As far as confusion with telepathy, it seems that my original symbols denoting it don't show up through Fanfiction. I temporarily have changed the previous chapters to denote it using hyphens, but as of now, telepathy is bolded (because bracketing with any symbol doesn't seem to work?). To clear any confusion, telepathic conversation is always between Jules and Jean. Sorry for the huge author's note. I hope you enjoy these next few chapters.

* * *

Friday went as it came—with the sound of the shower running. The scalding hot water, quite possibly hot enough to disinfect, was cleansing in more ways than one. When I finally stepped out of the shower, the exhaustion hit me. My façade of strength and indifference faded, and all I felt was fatigue. It was enervation from running away, from trying to pretend (and to believe) that leaving my home did not bother me. It was the guilt of what happened to my peers, to the faculty of my high school, and to my community that enfeebled me.

I was tired.

I dressed slowly, sluggishly, and this time in proper sleeping attire before falling onto my bed and climbing under the sheets. I thought of my parents. As distant as they were, I understood that they loved me in their own complicated way. I wondered what they thought of the note I had scribbled in haste. I'd made no mention of my mutation.

The daughter of Sandra and David Blake could never be a mutant.

They could not legally seek to drag me home, even with their money and their power. If (when) they caught wind of the rumors (the truth) of my mutation, they would have no desire for public ties with me. I doubted they wished legal ties, either, and so as I lied in bed, I bid a silent farewell to my parents, my old life, and my trust fund.

And, for once, I truly didn't exist in my parents' eyes. They could ignore me and forget about me and no longer feel like negligent parents. Their daughter had run away, and she didn't wish to be found, they would say. They would say it, and I don't know whether or not the words were actually false.

I burrowed into the bed, willing the intolerance, the inequality, and the fear of the world to disappear in the darkness of my room. The knock on my door that snapped me from my willing thoughts served as a reminder of just how ridiculous my hopes were.

I made no response to the knocking, and found myself instead willing the person to disappear (once again echoing the events of the earlier morning). The door, however, opened on its own accord, and light from the hallway spilled into the darkened bedroom.

I flipped the light switch telekinetically and closed my eyes to give myself a moment to adjust to the harsh light. "Jules?" The voice was meek, though the timidity combined with the familiar voice felt odd as I recalled the owner of the murmur.

"Susan," I greeted as I opened my eyes to see her standing just inside the room with Jean hovering not far behind her.

"My, uh, my parents kicked me out. The school administration had me expelled when my parents refused to have me coerced into getting tested. Then they wanted to know the truth so they had me tested themselves," she whispered. Her hands adjusted and readjusted around the black trash bag in her grasp. "My mom exploded, and my dad held her back while he told me I had five minutes to get my stuff." Her voice cracked and I could see tears threatening to fall down her already tear/stained cheeks.

Jean rested a caring hand on my former classmate's shoulder and I wondered if she was offering mental reassurances. "We can go over all of this in the morning, Susan," she said softly. "Why don't you just get some rest for now?"

She looked at Jean with large eyes and nodded slowly. I watched her walk towards the bed opposite mine, her movements jerky and mechanical as she set the bag beside the bed and sat stiffly on the side of the bed.

**I'm not good at comforting people.** I projected. With Jean's glance, I knew she heard me.

**Just be ready to listen when she wants to talk.** I offered a subtle nod, and watched as Jean moved to kneel before my new roommate. "Susan," she began aloud. "You're not alone in this. If you need anything, talk to Jules." **And if you need anything, let me know.** She gave me a pointed look and I knew her words had a double meaning; to some extent, I believe she was more worried about me than Susan.

She may well have been.

Susan made a motion that could have been called a nod, and Jean offered her most comforting smile before standing and leaving. I closed the door softly with my mind before returning my attention to my high school acquaintance.

"She's right. You should get some sleep. Things will get better. They have to."

In that moment, the second when she turned her head to meet my gaze, she looked as broken on the outside as I felt on the inside. But she nodded again, and she lied down on top of the blankets without changing just as I did the first night. She closed her eyes and let loose a single choked sob.

I flicked off the lights and tucked myself back in.

"Goodnight, Susan."


	13. Chapter 13

I didn't see much of Susan that Saturday. She was gone when I rolled out of bed, and I had only seen her briefly in passing during lunch. Passing Jean in a hallway, she had told me Susan had been speaking with the Professor and Mrs. Crawford all day. I felt a pang of sadness for her but swiftly tucked it away into the compartment of my mind that blared avoidance and denial.

"You should go outside and enjoy the nice weather," she had urged. "Take a book or a Frisbee, but the Professor and I agree that you need to get out of your room." Those green eyes bared concern and I only nodded in response before heading back towards my bedroom. Instead of taking a seat by the window, I fetched _Mother Night_ from my bookshelf and left as quickly as I came.

I took the telepath's advice, and I stepped outside to find a bench on the edge of the courtyard where other students were playing raucously. I curled my legs into my body and turned away from the distractions before attempting to lose myself in the words of Howard Campbell.

_Here lies Howard Campbell's essence,  
__Freed from his body's noisome nuisance.  
__His body, empty, prowls the earth,  
__Earning what a body's worth.  
__If his body and his essence remain apart,  
__Burn his body, but spare this, his heart._

It was not my first time (nor my second) reading Vonnegut's novel, but the passage struck me as strongly as it did the first time I read it. The words engrossed me, so much so that I had no time to respond to the playful shout of Bobby Drake.

"Heads up, Jules!"

The collision of cold water spread across my back in a searing pain, and I could not help but scream—more like growl—in agony as I fell forward off the bench. It wasn't the act itself that flared my anger but the pain of the burning sensation that had encompassed my shoulders, back, and neck, and it was that anger that caused me to send the bench on which I had been sitting crashing into the nearest tree. I wondered, for a split second, if there was a subconscious dislike for trees hidden in my psyche.

**Jules!** Jean's voice clamored in my mind.

The yard had grown deathly silent and still at the sound of the wood cracking and splintering violently. I grit my teeth with a clenched jaw as the ice cold water drenching my shirt continued to scald my flesh, and I involuntarily yelped in pain with every move I made and every breath I drew.

Students began to gather around me, each asking me if I was okay. Question was layered upon question until all the voices twisted into a blur of words and noise. Somebody reached out to me and rested a hand on my back. I hissed in pain and reflexively threw whoever it was away from me. There was no crash or cry for help, so I assumed (in my brief moment of clarity) that I had not hurt the person.

Eventually, somebody else had taken to clearing the students away from me, but my mind was far too dizzy with pain to care. "Jules. Jules!" It was Jean beside me now. "I'm going to move you to the infirmary, okay?" I nodded as best I could before allowing myself to succumb to the pain.


	14. Chapter 14

A mixture of first and second degree burns covering my back and shoulders—that was what Jean had told me when I woke in the infirmary of the institute. Skin grafts were not necessary, but the healing process was going to be painful, nonetheless. She had minimized the damage as best she could but there would still be scarring.

When the doctor's mask faded, anger replaced it. She had demanded to know why I had not informed them of my aversion to cold substances. She lectured me on the importance of understanding our mutations, to know our strengths and weaknesses and to best assess how we might fit into the world. But behind the anger of her expression and words, the concern was evident.

"You know now," I finally snapped as her persistence grated my last nerve.

She turned away from me and checked the monitors and the IV drip. "If you need anything, holler." Without another word, I watched her stride from the room, leaving me alone to wallow in the pain.

I must have fallen asleep because a gentle tapping on my hand drew me from the dream world. I opened my eyes to a less familiar face

"You're awake." John reached for the mug of hot water beside the bed. "Water?" I shook my head. "We're, uh—me and Bobby and all of us—sorry about what happened."

"You didn't know." I watched him shift uncomfortably in the chair beside my bed. "What?"

"We all kind of figured that you were powerful, but we didn't really think that you were that powerful."

"What are you talking about?" I recalled the events that led to me with a burnt back, and I remembered. "The tree." I gave a half-chuckle; if they thought that was the best I could do, they had little idea of what I was capable.

Then I remembered the person. "Who was it that I threw?"

"Doug Ramsey. Idiot's okay, though. You didn't shove him that hard."

I sighed loudly, wanting to roll onto my side but immediately regretting any major movement as my body screamed in protest. "Tell him I'm sorry, anyways." John nodded, though I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn't fond of this Doug Ramsey. Although, from the behavior I'd witnessed, John Allerdyce wasn't fond of many people.

"When you get out of here, you should come to the city with us—Bobby, Rogue, and I." He paused a moment before adding, "Your friends can come, too."

"What a delightfully sound invitation, John," I said flatly. He just stared at me, waiting for a more appropriate response. "I'll think about it."

"Good." He stood from the chair, offered a playful salute, and then drifted out the door.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep once more to escape the pain and the perpetual boredom of being stuck in bed. "Fuck my life," I muttered to the empty room.


	15. Chapter 15

A week had passed, and despite my forced bed-rest, I was still subjected to the torture also known as 'school'. Jean had brought me books and homework, had given me mini-lessons each day over what I had missed, and sat with me as I plowed through the papers, worksheets, and reading assignments.

"You're being lazy and not checking your work," she chastised. She sat in the corner of the room, her nose buried in a medical journal, but I could feel her presence in my mind, keeping track of each movement of my pencil and each education-related thought.

"It's not wrong is it?" I challenged. She didn't answer. "Then I'm not going to waste my time checking it."

"You're incorrigible." I merely shrugged my shoulders and continued through the rest of my work.

I was determined to finish it all, as Jean had promised once I had finished with this week's assignments, I was cleared to leave the infirmary. And despite the soreness of my back (not to mention the itchiness), I was ready to move around, unconfined to my small, private room.

The clock read ten after four, and part of me wished time itself would turn back as well if I nudged the hands this way or that with my telekinesis. Sadly, my abilities did not extend to time manipulation and I only had the evening before school started again (those damned and dreaded Mondays).

"Is that everything?" I asked, shutting the large biology textbook with a loud and satisfying _smack_.

"Why? Do you have a date to rush off to see?" She had teased me during the past week at John's insistence to assist me and to _encourage_ me to spend time with him once I was satisfactorily healed. While the redhead found it amusing, I found his puppy-dog routine charming, even if he wasn't my type and I wasn't searching for a relationship.

"Yeah. John's going to take me out to dinner and then we're going to sneak into the Danger Room and do _bad_ things," I said flatly. Her disapproving and chastising glare was enough to make me want to shrink away and apologize. "No, I'd just like some fresh air."

I could see those green eyes study my face with that _look_ that was a variation of concern and suspicion. I clamped down on my thoughts and shielded myself in precaution.

"Speaking of the Danger Room—which John shouldn't have mentioned to you in the first place—we're allowing some of the older students the opportunity to train in it after supper. You're welcome to sit in the observatory if you like." She emphasized 'sit' in a way that I knew I would _not_ be participating. "Susan will be in there, as well. She's still adapting." It was code for, 'Spend time with her and make her feel comfortable'. I wanted to mentally add, 'Because it's your damn fault' when I realized my peer was still suffering from the implications of my own outburst.

It was a self-sabotaging guilt of which I did not realize I was capable.

"Jules?" Jean's voice pulled me from my thoughts and a second glance at the clock told me I'd been unresponsive for a few minutes.

"Yeah. I'll be there." I knew the new look that crossed her face, and I knew it meant she wanted to ask if I was all right. She knew, however, that the question wouldn't be so much appreciated and thankfully refrained from asking. "Can I leave, now?"

She nodded mutely, again stopping herself from asking a question to which she already knew the answer. I gathered the books and notebooks on my own, shoving them into the satchel that Paul had brought down to me.

I slipped on my sneakers that sat beside the bed, ignoring the fact I was dressed in unattractive sweats that Logan had brought to me after my first day in one of the medical gowns. I stood still, contemplating the bag in my hand, shifting my grip as I decided whether or not to shoulder it. I decided against it, letting it dangle as I moved towards the exit.

"I'll see you at supper, Jean."

"Just shout if you need help."

She knew I wouldn't.


	16. Chapter 16

I found that undressing was much more difficult than dressing myself when my burned skin stretched as I lifted my arms to remove the sweatshirt. I didn't remember the process being quite as painful when I put it on, but I had also had help.

I let loose a breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding once the sweatshirt fell from my hands to the bathroom floor. I craned my neck to look at my back in the mirror. The skin was red and painfully dry in places, but it didn't look as bad as it felt. I grit my teeth and forced the pain to a corner of my mind that I could ignore before fetching a loose, light shirt that buttoned instead of pulled over.

There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door. "Jules?" Susan—I had yet to run into her, and during my stay in the infirmary, she had settled into the bedroom as my roommate. I finished dressing as quickly as I could and opened the door. "The cafeteria just opened. I was just heading down to meet Hannah and Paul. Do you want to come?"

Her voice still seemed weak, feeble, and hesitant; it was far from the jovial laugh and loud (obnoxious) voice I knew from high school. I wondered how much of that had been her own attempt at hiding what she was.

"Yeah, sure. Let me just grab my shoes." I slipped on a pair of socks before sliding my shoes into the worn and familiar Vans sitting at the food of my bed.

Susan smiled hesitantly at me, and we took to walking side by side to the cafeteria. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she offered quietly.

"Me, too." We fell into another lapse of silence before it became even too awkward for me to bear. "Jean told me there's going to be fun and games in the Danger Room tonight."

"Yeah. I'm going to hang around in their observation room to watch. I don't really have the kind of…" Her sentence cut off, and I knew she couldn't quite say it—power, ability, mutation. "I can't really participate."

I nodded, though I'm not sure if she saw it as I held open one of the doors to the cafeteria for her. "I'll be there, too. Jean's being a hardass and won't let me participate." I focused on the redhead and projected the thought towards her. I could see her head turn ever-so-slightly—unnoticeable for anybody who wasn't watching for some sort of recognition—and I knew she had heard me.

I watched Susan scan the boisterous room for our friends, and a look of relief washed over her as we spotted them waving at us with two extra trays already sitting at their table. "Look who's up and running again!" Paul grinned, pulling out the chair beside him for me.

"Not so much running as moving slowly," I half-joked. I took in the sight of the tray's contents before me—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Even the slop was appropriate for a school, I reminded myself.

Susan had already begun eating at her place beside Hannah and across the table from me. "How long does Dr. Grey think it'll be before you're fully healed?" Hannah asked, poking at her almost-empty plate with her fork.

"A couple weeks. You'd think there'd be some kid in this whole school who could speed up the process, but there's probably some lesson I'm supposed to learn while suffering through the pain."

**There isn't or else I would have you healed up by now.**

I lowered my eyes and glowered at my mashed potatoes. **You're not a part of this conversation, so get out of my head.** I clamped down on my shields once more, thinking I might as well be a telepath with all the side comments and terse conversations I seemed to have with Jean inside my mind.

"Can you participate in the Danger Room tonight? Bobby was telling me about it, and the system sounds really advanced and challenging." Paul shoveled a bite of green beans into his mouth, looking at me with interest.

I shook my head. "I'm just playing Big Brother in the observatory. You won't have to worry about me kicking your ass."

"As if you could, Blake." I rolled my eyes at him and ate my (not terribly bad) dinner in silence. The other three continued in their chatter, successfully drawing Susan into a happier state of mind with the banter.

I was almost finished with my meal when I felt hands settle on my shoulders. I immediately tensed and fought the urge to toss away whoever had the audacity to do such a thing. I craned my neck just enough to see John smirking down at me.

"John."

"Jules." I heated my body in an instant to a range I thought might even be too hot for the other pyromaniac. He ripped his hands from my body, startled by the heat. The others stared at him in amusement as he composed himself, turning his gaze away from me after a split-second glare. "Who's ready for some fun tonight?"

His enthusiasm for destruction wasn't quite as well-met as I suspected he had hoped, but nonetheless he persevered. "If you guys are done, Bobby, Kitty, and I are headed to the Danger Room." His tone was more urging than inviting, but I watched as Bobby, Hannah, and Susan lifted their trays to clean up. "You coming?" I took a moment before pushing away from the table and throwing away my half-eaten meal.

I trailed a little bit behind the others, allowing Susan to take comfort in the space between Hannah and Paul while my newer acquaintances maintained a rather boisterous mentality as we made our way to the lower levels of the mansion. I recognized the sterile hallways from when we first arrived and from my lockdown in the nearby infirmary; I had already had enough of it and was ready to see something I hadn't already.

"Here we are," John said with a sweep of his arm. He stood in front of two metal, double doors, staring at them expectantly. He rapped his hand against the door.

"Not so fast, John," came a familiar voice. Jean was standing just a little ways farther down the hallway. "We need to set some ground rules, and then those of you who are sitting out—" Green eyes locked on me. "—will need to follow me to the observation deck.

Scott is already inside, setting up a basic training module. You guys—John, Bobby, Kitty, Paul, and Hannah—will be competing against another team. Think of it like capture-the-flag with mutant abilities and extra machinery gunning for you."

"Who's the other team?" Kitty asked, beginning to fidget.

"It's a surprise," was all Jean would offer.

I couldn't help but snort at the ingenuity of it. "You're going to get your asses kicked," I told them. "It's probably Scott, Hank, and some other mutants more powerful than you."

Kitty's eyes widened. "That is so not fair."

"Settle down, Kitty. We've set up this run to challenge you and to observe how you work as a team. It's supposed to be fun, so relax." Kitty folded her arms across her chest and reluctantly nodded. "Ground rules—when Scott tells you to stop, you stop. No questions. You aren't aiming to kill, so keep the physical damage to a minimum. Remember that while this may be a training exercise, it's also a game, so try to enjoy it."

**We'll give it our best shot, Mom!** Green eyes shot daggers at me.

"Jules, Susan, let's head up to the observation deck. The rest of you go on inside and Scott will brief you on the more intricate details."

As we entered the room, I noticed Marie—Rogue—shift uncomfortably in her chair near one of the large windows. I hitched my chin in greeting and earned a half-wave in response. What caught even more of my attention, however, was the large control panel with a multitude of buttons, knobs, and adjustable keys.

**Don't even think about it, **Jean echoed in my mind.

**Too late,** I shot back.

A smidge of pain spread through my ear as Jean flicked it with practiced grace; I had to resist the urge to throw a fireball at her head in retaliation.

"While we're in here," she began, "please refrain from using any active power. This includes interfering with what's happening on the floor below." I felt another pointed look graze me. "We're up here to observe and watch—not actively participate."

"Aye, aye, Captain," I said with a salute. This time I managed to dodge her flicking fingers.

On the floor below, my peers were gathered before Scott, Logan, Hank, and two others I didn't recognize. "That's Warren and that's Remy," Rogue informed in a quiet voice. "Logan knows Remy somehow, but he won't tell me when they met. Bobby says Warren used to be a student here, years ago." Just seeing the wings sprouting from his back made me wish I could fly.

We gathered at the glass window and watched the two teams take their places. The game itself was more exciting than I thought it would be, and my peers fared as well as could be expected against the more practiced team of X-Men; that was to say, not well at all.

When their asses had been thoroughly kicked, everybody cleaned up and reconvened in a small study off of the library to discuss tactics, mingle, and otherwise be social in a way that I did not appreciate. John sidled up to me and stayed at my side, attempting to make idle chitchat.

"Did you see when Kitty and I tag-teamed Beast? Dr. McCoy didn't stand a chance," he gloated. When I didn't respond at all after his first five attempts, he slinked off dejectedly.

I headed towards the exit, only to be stopped by another attention-seeking male. "You must be the new pyro that can give John a run for his money." I turned around to face Warren Worthington III, who was now garbed in civilian clothing with a long trench coat hiding his feathers. He jutted a hand out for me to shake. "Warren."

I offered a firm handshake before shoving my hands into my pockets. "Jules."

"Jean's told me a lot about you." He dragged a calloused hand through his cropped blond hair before mimicking my own stance.

"You should tell her that it's not polite to talk about people behind their backs."

He only grinned a sickeningly boyish grin that screamed privileged prat; we had that much in common. "I can see why she likes you." Without another word, he wandered off, and I continued on my previous path before being intercepted by Susan.

"Can we go?" I nodded, not bothering to tell her that I was already on my way out (without her) and let my hand fall to her back to guide her out of the crowded room. I held the door open for her who slipped out before me and began leading the way back to our shared room.


	17. Chapter 17

A month passed without any major incidents (a younger student accidentally blowing up the toaster seemed normal fare for the mansion), and my back had finally finished healing. And despite my last run-in with water, I found myself at the beach one Saturday with my peers. In October. In New York.

We sat on the sandy and rocky beach, listening to and watching the waves crash against the shoreline. It was picturesque for those of us immune to the draftier temperatures.

Kitty, Susan, and Hannah huddled around John and me, attempting to steal our own never-faltering body heat. Bobby and Paul looked on in amusement as we were essentially treated as portable heaters, and Rogue had bundled up in a blanket and scarf and leaned comfortably against her boyfriend, all the while mindful of direct contact.

"It wouldn't be difficult to build a fire, you know." Telekinetically, I began to gather driftwood from the nearby vicinity, arranging it a couple feet away from us.

"It's not that cold," Hannah argued, all the while continuing to shiver. I just raised an eyebrow I snapped my fingers, sending a spark of flame that started a quick fire burning brightly in front of us.

"Hey!" All of us turned our heads to look at the group of teenagers approaching us. I untangled myself from the mass of bodies surrounding me and pushed to my feet. The sound of fabric shifting told me the others were doing the same. Bobby, John, and I placed ourselves protectively between the others and the strangers.

"Something wrong?" I asked. The familiar clink of John's lighter opening reached my ears.

"We don't like your kind here," one of the boys spat. "So why don't you just take your little freak show out of here and go back to whatever pit you crawled out of."

John lunged with his fists, immediately grappled by Bobby and Paul.

"Get to the car," I told the others without taking my eyes off of the thugs in front of us.

"No way in hell am I leaving you with these douchebags," John growled. With a telekinetic push, I urged them all in the direction of the parking lot. Reluctantly, they left me alone, but I could see Bobby and John hovering close by as the others retreated to the car.

"Whose kind, you sapiens brat?" I snapped once I felt the others were a safe enough distance away.

"Your kind, you dumb slut."

I hurled a flaming log at them, which they barely managed to avoid. I could see the desire in their eyes to rush me, but hesitation flickered as I cast a glance behind me to see John, Bobby, and Kitty inching towards us.

"Come on, Jules." Kitty tugged my arm, and after a moment, I turned to follow. I was waiting (almost wanting) for them to try something. We managed, without incident, to make it back to the Jeep we had crammed into. I climbed into the driver's seat, sitting in silence for a minute.

"Damn it!" I screamed, my palms smacking the steering wheel with an anger-infused strength. Nobody spoke during the ride back to the mansion or once we arrived at the mansion and moved to go our separate ways. I took to the first empty classroom, dropping into a center desk and burrowing my face in my hands. I didn't move at the behest of the gentle knock on the door nor when it creaked open and a flash of red entered.

Jean took a seat in the desk beside me. I felt a warmth and comfort envelope me from the inside out and I allowed my shields to fall at the telepath's gentle nudging.

"There are days when I truly hate humans. I can see them burn in my mind, watch their skin crack, blacken, and burn as they writhe in pain. I can feel them choke as the smoke from their own burning flesh suffocates them. And there are times when I want it so badly. It would be so easy to decimate them, to destroy their bigotry with a single thought."

"We would be no better than Magneto, Jules, if we stoop to that level."

I picked up a textbook that somebody had left beneath the desk and turned it over in my hands. History of the Roman Empire. It burst into flames in my hand and with all my strength and anger and frustration, I threw it as hard as I could.

It froze mid-air before it could crash into something valuable—like the glass windows at the front of Storm's classroom. Jean didn't scold nor comment, merely allowing it to levitate and burn. Gently, I pulled it back towards me, taking the fragile and crumbling object into my hands and putting the fire out.

"I'll pay for a replacement," I whispered and set the ruined book onto the desk. Jean's hand found mine and she squeezed reassuringly. I looked to her and saw her compassion and care, and slowly the warmth withdrew from my mind. "Thank you."

"You're not alone, Jules. Never alone."


	18. Chapter 18

The autumn air was crisp, and most of the reds, golds, and browns had fallen from the trees to scatter the New England roads. It was beautiful, and it was exhilarating to zoom through the winding streets of Westchester on my motorcycle.

I was riding into New York City, meeting Bobby, John, Kitty, and Rogue for a three-day adventure before returning to the mansion to celebrate Thanksgiving. We had pooled our money and with some help from Jean and the Professor, we were able to find a hotel room in the heart of the city.

It was my second time in the Big Apple; the first was after the beach disaster—Jean had brought me to show me the sights and get my mind away from my daily frustrations. But every time I saw the hustle and bustle, the skyscrapers and (sometimes obnoxious) advertising, I found myself in awe.

I pulled into the parking lot of the fancy hotel at which we were staying and parked my bike, ignoring the odd looks from people as they saw me (this young woman who rides a motorcycle and uses a tattered duffel bag) enter the building. I wasn't foreign to privilege with my background, and I knew how to act around the upper class if need be, but those I saw reminded me far too much of my parents.

I found the others waiting for me in the lobby. John clapped me on the back. "Well, it's about time, Torch. Took you long enough." I elbowed him in the side and grinned when I heard the satisfying grunt of pain and surprise.

"If you're done acting like idiots, we're on the fourth floor," Kitty interjected, readjusting the bag slung over her shoulder.

"Lead the way, kitten," I urged.

Nobody gave us odd looks as we made our way through the lobby and to the elevator. It was refreshing to blend into society again, to pretend we were normal teenagers. It had only been a couple months living at the mansion, but already my life had felt supersaturated with other mutants.

In that time I had drifted from those of my St. Louis life (Paul, Hannah, Susan, and Mrs. Crawford) and found companionship with those of my new life (Bobby, Rogue, John, and Kitty). I had learnt the best times to get your meals, which hallways were the least crowded, and never to trust anybody else with your laundry. All the while, however, day in and day out, I had been surrounded by more mutants than ever before—there was always a child flipping television channels with his mind, a student teleporting here and there on the basketball court, or a triplet of telepaths.

To be among humans, no matter how many of them I resented for their own views about mutants, was refreshing.

We reached the fourth floor and found our two-room, four-bed suite with ease. Kitty phased through the door as John fumbled with the room key and unlocked the door for us from the inside. "This is cozy," Rogue said off-handedly, setting her bag next to one of the beds. "I've never stayed in a place this fancy before."

"You don't call the mansion fancy?" I asked her, setting my duffel on the bed with Kitty's suitcase.

Rogue shrugged. "It's a school."

Bobby and John had already flopped onto the two remaining beds—males marking their territory. "It's a fancy school," John commented.

Iceman sat up, hooking his hands behind his head as he cast a glance out the window. "My parents don't know it's a school for mutants; they think I'm attending an elite preparatory school."

"Because Boston doesn't have any good prep schools? Right." A pillow was quickly flying through the air and smacking John in the face, which only earned Bobby the finger.

I thought I heard Kitty mutter, "Boys," but it wasn't loud enough to be definitive. Regardless, I could agree with the sentiment and urged the group to go out and explore the city.

We didn't have a set plan, nor were we sure where we could and could not go without being tagged and harassed as mutants. As a method of self-preservation, we crossed the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty off of our tourist list, but we wandered Chinatown, visited the Cloisters, played Frisbee in Central Park, and ate more pizza than any person should in a three-day period.

And while nothing out of the ordinary happened, the normality of the trip was a welcome change. When we climbed into the Jeep on Friday night, nobody had been arrested, shot at, or beaten for being a mutant or otherwise.

It was good.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Thank you to all my readers with the alerts and the favorites and special thanks to those of you who have left reviews. Enjoy the update and thanks for reading!

* * *

I had felt like an actual teenager, not burdened by my family's expectations or society's—not even my own for the short time we were in the city. I was a seventeen-year-old girl coming home for Thanksgiving after a (rambunctious) vacation with friends. It felt normal; I felt normal.

But as we pulled into a pitch black garage, even between my gasps for air between laughs at the stupid joke John told, I could feel that something was not right.

I jumped out of the Jeep, leaving my bag in the back. "It's not normally dark in here, right?" I asked. The lack of light seemed to dawn on them, as well, as they climbed out of the car. I flipped the switch up and down telekinetically, listening to the click of the broken switch. The garage remained swathed in darkness. I engulfed my hands in fire, bathing a smaller area with the soft, orange glow.

We filed into the kitchen, slowly and quietly. I froze when I heard and felt the glass crunch beneath our shoes. There was a smell permeating the air that I recognized from the days of my childhood when my father pretended I was the son he didn't have. He would take me into the country and heft a rifle into my arms, and he taught me to shoot a gun. It was the smell of a recently-fired gun that burned my nostrils.

**Jean!** The house was eerily silent.

"Bobby, John, Rogue, check the classrooms down here. Kitty and I will head upstairs and see if there's anybody still here. Be quiet and be careful."

"What should we do if there's like… a serial murderer in the mansion?"

"Run. Get out of here and go some place safe. We'll find you."

I wanted to jump out of my skin when John rested a hand on my shoulder. "Jules, I really don't think—" I cut him off with a glare. The trio moved ahead of us, avoiding the broken glass and disappearing out of the kitchen and down a hall. Kitty and I headed in the opposite direction to the closest stairwell.

I extinguished the flames around my hands, not wishing to offer a beacon of a target if somebody less-than-friendly was roaming the halls of the school. "Stay behind me," I whispered.

I could hear the sounds of boots moving across the floors, shuffling with military precision.

Flashlight beams spilled into the hallway from one of the nearby bedrooms. We pressed ourselves against the wall, but the soldier who had stepped clear of the room had seen Kitty move and had fired before I could respond. A tranquilizer embedded in her neck, and she fell to the ground quickly.

My body blazed with flames and with a loud pop, I felt a sharp sting in my left shoulder. More men appeared through the doorway, and this time they were firing bullets, not tranquilizers. I was ready for them, and one by one, I caught their bullets mid-air and flung them back with tendrils of flame accompanying them. Telekinetically, I grabbed the nearest man and threw him against the wall with such force that his body was rent apart. Warm blood spattered across my face as I moved onto the next assailant. When the gunfire had finally ceased, four bodies were strewn across the now-destroyed hallway.

The glow of my own fire illuminated the havoc I had wrecked and the death I had caused. Their vests, which I finally recognized as U.S. military, had done nothing to protect them against me.

There were times that my own strength and apathy towards human life frightened me; this was one of them.

Still in shock with adrenaline coursing through my veins, I gently scooped Kitty into my arms and ignored the searing pain in my shoulder. I carried her back down the stairs and to the garage without encountering any more soldiers or John and the others. The Jeep was missing, and I knew they had fled. I moved towards the truck in which I had run before, and tucked Kitty into the passenger side of the cab and slid into the driver's seat.

I was numb. I had no idea where to go. So I drove back towards the city.


	20. Chapter 20

The Middle East Side—District X. Mutant Town.

Shattered glass rained around me, waking me from my half-slumber. A claw-like hand reached through the broken window and grabbed me by the shirt. Whoever it was, they were flung away from me a moment later, and not by my own powers. A familiar farce appeared in lieu of the hand.

"Warren?"

"District X really isn't the place to sleep in your car."

"What are you doing here?"

His shoulders rose and fell with a simple shrug as he cast a glance to the left and then the right. "Charity auction to fund a health clinic in the area. Jean told me to keep an eye out for you."

"I tried her cell all night and there wasn't an answer. The mansion—" Images of burnt flesh and battered faces flashed through my mind.

"Your friends made it to Boston, but there've been a few problems, so Jean and Ororo are flying there first. I'm supposed to get you cleaned up back at my place."

"What kind of situation?"

Kitty stirred beside me. Finally. "Jules? What's going on? Warren?" Her eyes widened as she took in my appearance. "You're covered in blood."

I shook my head at her, trying to slow her chain of thought. "Everything's going to be all right. We're going to stay with Warren until Jean can pick us up."

She nodded slowly, and I helped her out of the truck. We followed Warren obediently to not a block away where a large Hummer sat running with a driver waiting. Kitty in the vehicle and out of earshot, Warren gave my uninjured shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It was self-defense," he whispered. "You were protecting her and yourself. Nobody can fault you for what happened." Their lifeless faces remained burned in my mind regardless.

When we arrived at Warren's Brooklyn home, I was surprised how little it looked like a billionaire playboy's bachelor pad. It was modestly decorated and seemed your average upper-class abode. I wondered what had changed him from the man I had read about in the tabloids.

"There's a bathroom at the end of the hall if you want to clean up. I think my ex-girlfriend left some clothes here—I'll see if I can find them for you."

I muttered a quick thanks before padding down the hallway. It was the first time I'd gotten a good look at myself in a mirror and my appearance was atrocious. Blood and other unidentified chunks of _something _(someone?) clung to my skin and clothes, and when I breathed in, the smell of death filled my body and bile rose through my throat.

I emptied my stomach into the nearby toilet and proceeded to heave until there was absolutely nothing left.

Kitty's voice preceded the quiet knock on the door. "Jules, I have the clothes from Warren."

I cranked the knobs of the bath and started the shower before cracking the door to accept the clothes.

Her face was etched with concern, exhaustion, and fear, but she choked it back and smiled and nodded at my thanks. Without another word, she retreated back the way she had come, and I closed the door with a soft click before stripping and stepped into the spray of the scalding water.

I scrubbed until my skin was raw and the last physical remnants of the previous night were washed away. With my hair rinsed one last time, I stepped out and dried off, quickly dressing into the slightly-too-big clothes.

I found Kitty curled up on the sofa before the television. The muted screen showed images of burning police cars with a marquee ablaze with news of mutant terrorism. The images were of a Boston suburb.

"John is going to get all of us registered and branded."

Another camera zoomed in to show the faces that caused the chaos—Logan, Bobby, Rogue, and John.

"Son of a bitch," I swore under my breath.

"Logan left a message on my phone sometime last night. He saw the others take off in the Jeep and caught up with them, said they were heading to Bobby's parents' house in Boston."

I lifted a hand to my face and rubbed at my eyes, feeling even more stress and tension seep into my muscles. "And now this."

She nodded mutely. I crossed the room and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. "How's your neck?" She tentatively touched the small, purple bruise that marred the skin.

"Still bruised, but the nausea from whatever it was is gone." Her hand dropped back to her lap. "How's your shoulder"

I didn't bother moving it, knowing it would only aggravate the already enormous amount of pain. "I got shot," was all I answered.

It was a clean shot, straight through the muscle. Driving into the city, I'd managed to get a cup of ice from a drive-thru and cauterize the flesh to stop the bleeding. It wasn't pretty, and I was sure it would scar, but it kept me from bleeding to death and leaving a bigger blood smear in my truck.

I couldn't even begin to fathom Jean's face, her lecture on taking care of myself and seeking adequate medical attention in such situations. I almost wanted to laugh at the thought. Instead, I took the remove from Kitty and turned off the television; neither of us had the energy to worry about them nor needed the stress of it. Jean would get to them, and she would help them; good, ol' Dr. Grey.

"With the attack on the president and now this… what if the thing at the mansion was only the beginning?" she asked, voice quiet and small.

"We'll just have to deal with it if it happens. I don't think there's anything else we can do."

"I'm scared."

Kitty Pryde was a strong mutant. Perhaps her abilities were not the most active, but she was powerful in her own way. She was well-aware of her strengths and weaknesses and understood her mutation. She was strong-willed, independent, and intelligent—and here she sat, curled into herself, afraid.

"Yeah, I know."

I think maybe I was, too.


	21. Chapter 21

Warren had called in favors to have my truck towed to a garage to have the windows replaced and the interior detailed after I had bled all over it. With my car gone (for the time being), he drove us to the small, private hangar where Jean would collect us. It felt reminiscent, somehow, of Lincoln Park.

She told us that we would be returning to the institute where cleanup had already begun. With the Professor and Scott away on business, Ororo was left in charge and she had deemed it safe to return. I assumed the students that had fled were slowly returning, and those that didn't would be sought with the machine Jean had mentioned—Cerebro.

My assumptions were confirmed as Kitty and I boarded the Blackbird with a Jean's welcome and an explanation of the plans. We followed her back to the front of the plane where Bobby, John, Rogue, and Logan were buckled in. Another chair swiveled and I focused on the demonic blue face that was unfamiliar to me.

"Guten tag! I am Kurt Wagner!" His words were thick with a German accent, and he raised a three-fingered hand in greeting,

"I remember you, Kurt," Kitty said with a smile, moving to kiss him on the cheek before taking the seat beside him.

I dipped my head in a slight bow. "Nice to meet you, Kurt." As I moved to take a seat, I passed by a sleeping John and whacked him on the back of his head, throttling him into wakefulness. Choice words escaped his mouth until he realized it was me.

"Jules. You're all right."

I shrugged my good shoulder. "More or less. We're alive."

"We heard gunfire."

"Yeah, well, the other guys weren't as lucky as us." John's eyes widened and I could hear Kitty's sharp intake of breath. At the front of the cockpit, I saw Jean and Ororo exchange glances.

I took a seat away from the others, buckled in, and closed my eyes; I really did not want to talk about it.


	22. Chapter 22

"I'm sending you on a retrieval mission with Jean." Ororo set her mug of coffee on the breakfast island at which I sat, quietly reading the New York Times and minding my own business.

I looked up. "Why me?"

"You've shown you can handle yourself, and I would like you to see the good that we can do."

"So this isn't a pity-run, trying to get me away from the mansion?" I quirked an eyebrow.

Storm reached for her mug and drew a sip of the warm, black liquid. A moment of silence stretched between us. "Partially," she finally answered.

When we arrived back at the mansion, most of the work that remained was sweeping up broken glass and furniture and righting overturned tables and chairs. Professionals would replace any broken windows, and new furniture would be brought in by staff. The cleaning leftover was more menial (and thus good chores for the younger students), as Storm had paid an exorbitant amount of money to have the (destroyed) hallway cleaned and repaired before we returned.

That, unfortunately, did not stop the anxiety attack I suffered when I attempted to walk through it.

The entire scene (guns, bullets, fire, blood, pain, death) played out again in my head, and when I snapped out of it, the paralysis of my body frightened me, and only the warmth of Jean's mind around mine kept me from panicking. I'd lashed out at non-existent attackers, she told me. Had neither she nor John been present, I would have destroyed and burned the hallway a second time.

I avoided the hallway after that.

"When do we leave?"

She took another sip of coffee. "In an hour."

Packing wouldn't be a problem; I had started to keep my duffel lightly packed in case we had to run again. Call it paranoia, but I considered it a reasonable expectation after the past three months.

I excused myself from the kitchen anyways and retreated back to my room where Susan still slumbered.

I ungracefully fell onto the bed as I did the first night and flicked my fingers alight, drawing a phoenix in the air above me. I tried to draw strength from its image until Jean knocked on my door an hour later, telling me it was time to leave.

Students shied away from me as we trekked through the mansion towards the garage. Rumors of my murders spread like wildfire after the bodies of the dead were removed from the grounds.

**Just ignore them. Somebody else will catch their attention within the week.**

I forced myself to believe her as we stepped into the garage. We would be taking a commercial flight instead of the jet, and so I slipped into Jean's car and buckled my seatbelt.

"Where are we going?"

Jean hesitated before answering. "St. Louis."

I swore quietly and knew it was too late to back out as she handed me a boarding pass and an official-looking, laminated card. I flipped it over in my hand and examined it.

_By the approval of Senator Robert Kelly (Kansas), _Homo superior _Jules Blake is hereby authorized for the following forms of public transportation: bus, tram, train, metro, subway, ferry, and airline. Signed, Senator Robert Kelly_

"Are you serious?" I asked as we began the drive to the airport. "When did this start?"

"After somebody mind-controlled Kurt into attacking the president. They're implementing location-testing at major transportation hubs, and at JFK, there is a mutant hired by the government to screen all flyers. If you don't have a permit, they'll force you to register, and if you're class three or higher, without a card and regardless of registration, they'll forbid you from flying," she explained.

"That's bullshit."

"That's politics and fear."

I scoffed at the excuse, and we rode the rest of the way in silence. We didn't speak until we stepped into one of the many lines for security.

"Is that him?" I hitched my chin in acknowledgment of the tall blond standing beside a security officer, his vibrant blue eyes scanning the crowd feverishly. Jean offered an almost imperceptible nod.

"He's already spotted us." I watched as the man leaned close to the officer and whisper something in his ear. The guard's eyes widened as he zeroed in on us. "He told the guard that a class five mutant just stepped into his line."

"You're class five?"

"It's a measurement of genetic potential—not necessarily actual power."

I watched as three other officers approached the front of the line, no doubt in preparation for Jean and I. The four people in front of us (and most in the other lines) glanced around in an attempt to understand the need for increased security. Some scowled at us, others cowered in fear, and many just shrugged and went back to their own concerns and lives.

In the line two lanes over, another group of guards escorted a white-scaled mutant from her lane. They weren't forceful but they weren't gentle; I wanted to punch their faces and show them what a truly frightening mutant was.

**Jules…** I was chastised in my own mind.

We stepped up to the metal detector and I could not help but notice the officers' hands drift to their side-arms.

"Boarding pass, ID, and permit or registration." I handed over the necessary documents, all while resisting the urge to frighten the guards. He scanned them closely and seemed to not want to allow us through. Finally, he beckoned me through the metal detector before slapping a black band around my wrist. "You're clear."

I took a moment to pointedly stare at the demeaning bracelet, signifying my mutant class and that I was clear for travel. As I gathered my duffel at the end of the scanner, I made a plan to set the offending thing on fire the minute we were out of the airport.

Jean repeated the same process as me, and we were on our way to the gate. The plane was already boarding when we arrived, so we were quickly ushered to our seats. The child sitting beside me bore a small yellow band around his wrist—class two. I was surprised, as he could not have been older than seven or eight. His eyes widened when he noticed our own bands.

"You're mutants, too?"

"Sammy," his mother chided. "Leave the other passengers alone."

"But they're mutants, too, Mom." He continued to look on excitedly between Jean and me.

"Just don't bother them if they ask you to leave them alone." The mother went back to reading some trashy tabloid magazine.

Jean smiled at the small boy, and I could tell this ride was not going to be quiet and peaceful. "Hi, Sammy. I'm Jean, and this is my friend Jules. What's your mutation?"

Sammy tugged down the collar of his turtleneck, revealing gills set just above his collarbone. His mother quickly rolled the fabric back up to conceal the gills, but the child seemed unfazed by the move. "I can breathe underwater," he said proudly.

"That's really neat. I actually teach at a school for mutants."

"Really? That's so cool!" the boy squealed. "What can you guys do?"

I opened my mouth to answer but Jean beat me to it. "We can make things move without touching them." **Be polite**, she silently added to me. Jean didn't mention our second abilities, most likely to avoid causing mass panic on the plane.

I closed my eyes and attempted to block out their conversation as they talked all the way to St. Louis. When we stepped off the plane at the gate, Jean smiled and held a hand out for Sammy to shake. "It was wonderful meeting you, Sammy, Mrs. Paré." She dug in her bag to pull out a business card for the boy. "If you ever have any questions or need resource references, please don't hesitate to call me." Mrs. Paré offered a curt nod before taking off towards the baggage claim with her son in tow.

I knew the airport well and I navigated Jean and I to the car rental counters with ease. Much to my dismay, we were soon off to the place I had fled—my old high school.

"Jean, do you honestly think it's a good idea for me to step foot inside there after everything that happened when Paul, Hannah, and I ran?"

"Your presence will make them comply quicker; they'll want to get you out of there as fast as possible."

I pointed her in the right direction to the suburb where I grew up. "So I'm just a tool to make your job easier."

"Not just a tool, but you are making my job easier."

I turned on the radio to avoid talking anymore.

We pulled into the parking lot and slipped into one of the guest spots. I didn't budge from my seat until Jean opened my door and gave me a strong, telekinetic tug, and I nearly tumbled onto the asphalt.

"Why pick them up here?"

"Her—only one person on the list today. She called early this morning, fearful of returning home before the school day's end and asked, if we could make it today, to find her here."

"Who is she? I probably know her."

I held open the door for Jean and followed her inside. The labyrinth of hallways was still familiar, and memories of walking through them still seemed fresh in my mind. But this wasn't my life anymore, and this was no longer my school or my town.

The secretary, Ms. Lee, nodded her head politely as we entered the office. I was baffled by the move, but as I watched her form contort and twist, I understood that perhaps there was a greater mutant conspiracy in society.

"Miss Carlysle," Jean greeted. "We're here for Sarah Baum; she's expecting us."

The woman before us, who I did not recognize, merely nodded and shifted her attention to her computer. She typed quickly, and soon her gaze returned to us. "She's in the science building, room 104. Shall I call her down or do you wish to retrieve her yourselves?"

The clack of heels in the hallway echoed, and soon the woman I knew as Ms. Lee was once again sitting behind the front desk.

"We'll go ourselves. Thank you, Vanessa." I looked curiously between Jean and the other mutant before following the redhead out of the office. "Lead the way," she said, allowing me to move past her.

My eyes found every clock we passed, and each time I made a mental note of how much time we had before the bells would chime and students and faculty would spill into the halls, and I was sure most would be confused or frightened at my return—not to mention, the more attention we drew, the more likely my parents would know I had been in the city, and I was not yet prepared to face their scrutiny, even from afar.

We reached the science building and slipped inside. Jean stopped me before I could open the door to the classroom and tapped her temple knowingly with her index finger. A minute later, Sarah was opening the door herself with a large duffel-sized bag in hand.

Sarah Baum; as harmless as a human, her mutation would never be the death of anybody or anything. She was a healer, and while not a very strong one, she could clean up scratches, scrapes, and bruises—on everybody but herself.

"Who the hell took a swing at you?" I demanded upon seeing the shiner marring the left side of her face.

"Good to see you, too, Jules," she murmured depreciatingly. I took her bag and shouldered it, following as Jean took the lead back to the car. "Thank you for coming for me, Dr. Grey."

"Black eye aside, you're all right?" Jean asked. Sarah nodded. Without another word, Jean reached out and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Everything will be okay. Don't worry."


	23. Chapter 23

It was Sarah's father that hit, after he got home from work and saw the results of the genetic testing for any signs of mutated DNA. He had fumed, Sarah said, and after her mother calmed him, his anger flared and he took off. Sarah's mother agreed about leaving for Xavier's Institute, believing it would be best and safest for her daughter.

It was only three days, but already Sarah appeared well-adjusted. She was in the room across the hall from Susan and I, and she seemed pleased to see Paul and Hannah (they were always better friends than acquaintances before the incident).

"I wasn't blacklisted, at first," she said one night at dinner. "It was on Halloween, and one of my friends brought her little brother to me after he'd tripped and scraped his face. After I healed him, he started screaming mutant, and well… here we are."

Susan leaned in and hugged the other girl tightly; they had been good friends at school, and I thought how nice it must be to have somebody so close in a new, strange environment (because the mansion was, indeed, strange).

I quietly excused myself from the table and made my way to a less-visited alcove near the library. Rain drummed against the window, a soft pitter-pat that could very well be the last rain before the snow and ice would set in with winter's coming. I took a seat next to the window and drew my knees close to my chest. I didn't even hear Jean's approach.

"You've heard the talk about Storm's plans," she whispered. It sounded as if it should have been a question, but with how fast rumors and gossip spread, I knew it was more of a statement than anything else.

I nodded.

Ororo was setting up a satellite school in San Francisco. With the growing number of mutants located and the recent attack on the Institute, she and the Professor had agreed that a second location might be necessary.

"Hannah, Paul, and Susan already told me they want to go; they don't feel safe here anymore. And Sarah—she'll go where they go." I shifted slightly, finally turning my eyes away from the window and to Jean. I rested my head on my knees. "Have you found the missing kids, yet?"

Thoughts of a far more insidious moment than just a rampage against mutants had spread through the halls of the school, and rumors of kidnap and testing swirled through the mansion as fast as Ashida could spread the word.

I could barely see Jean nod in the low light. "The Professor and I managed to get a read on them about an hour ago. The others are suiting up to leave. We'd like you, Kitty, Bobby, and John to join us."

"Having me there is probably not the best idea in the world, Red. People died the last time I had guns pointed at me." I saw her look and knew she wasn't accepting that as an excuse. I untangled my limbs and stood to silently follow her to the underground tunnels housing the X-Men paraphernalia.

"Look," I heard John start, "I understand that the leather is supposed to be a protective suit, but how the hell are we supposed to move in it?"

"You'll adapt, kid," chimed Logan's rough voice as we rounded the corner

"All right, people, let's get a move on," Scott urged, shepherding us to the hangar and onto the Blackbird.

I followed after Jean to a section of the jet where extra uniforms were kept. She removed her own leather suit and set it aside before rummaging for a second—I assume for me.

"I'm sure Scott had some rule about protocol, but there's no way I'm suffocating my body in one of those," I told her, pointing to the mass of leather and zippers. She shot me a look that screamed, _Seriously?_ I remained firm in my stance.

She pulled off her leather coat and handed it to me. "It'll be better than nothing," she offered, before grabbing her uniform and stepping into a private changing room. I slipped into the slightly large coat, thankful she hadn't forced the issue.

**You're welcome. **

Sometimes Jean was such a mind snoop.

I returned to the others and sat down beside Kitty. Jean rejoined us soon, and we settled into quiet conversations amongst ourselves.

"I'm afraid," Kitty whispered. "What if we're too late?"

"For whatever reason they're keeping them, they're keeping them alive. The Professor would know if they were dead. We'll get to them." The words felt like false hope, even as they escaped my own mouth.

I played with the sleeve of the leather coat wrapped around me, catching a glimpse of Jean staring at nothing in particular. She seemed overtaken by an unknown solemnity, by something greater than the already serious gravity of the situation. I could feel it in my own body, my own mind, through the link we had forged over the past months.

She turned to look at me and offered a sad smile. She knew something, and it wasn't good.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, praying, maybe, or just wishing.

It was not long before Scott's voice traveled to us from the front of the plane, giving orders as the tactical team leader. "Jules and Kitty, I want you with Logan. Bobby, John, you're with Kurt. The six of you will search for the missing children and get them to safety. Storm, Jean, and I are going to confront Stryker. Prepare yourselves; we'll be landing soon in the woods not far from the base."

The landing was less than smooth, but we were alive and on the ground. Storm quickly pulled up a hologram of the base's compound, pointing out four points of entry including the most obvious spillway entrance.

"They aren't expecting intruders, so our best chance is to go in here." The image magnified, showing a single bunker door guarded by two men. "Kurt will go in first and incapacitate them. At their signal, we'll approach and enter and separate into the designated teams. Are there any questions?"

Nobody spoke. Storm shut off the hologram and we de-boarded the jet. I could see the guards in the distance, specks of black against the snow. "Kurt, go ahead." Scott gave a curt nod, and with a _whampf _and puff of sulfur and brimstone-smelling smoke, he disappeared and reappeared in the distance. The two specks fell to the ground within seconds, and Kurt's image flickered as he teleported in the same space—the signal.

We hurried forward in a haphazard fashion, reaching Kurt and the unconscious soldiers in little time. I nearly ripped the door of its hinges as I pulled it open with my telekinesis. We shuffled into the dimly-lit bunker, warily casting glances to the shadows. The room was, thankfully, unoccupied, and we divided to go our separate ways.

Jean's hand caught mine before I could disappear down one of the hallways with Logan and Kitty. "Jules," she started seriously. "Whatever happens, you have people that will always care about you. You need to be brave, and you need to be strong. I have faith in you."

Logan called out to me to hurry up before I could ask any questions. Jean was already headed in the opposite direction with Scott and Storm, and so I turned to catch up to my team. Kitty was waiting for me beside a descending shaft. "Logan already climbed down; he told me to wait for you."

I nodded and began my descent down the rungs. When I dropped to the ground below, Logan was nowhere in sight. "He's gone," I told Kitty as she finished climbing down the ladder.

"Goddamn it, Logan," she swore. "We need to find the kids, and then we'll look for him. I'm sure he's fine on his own and we can handle ourselves." My head bobbed in agreement, and I slowly trailed behind Kitty as we moved through the tunnels.

"Help us! Somebody, help us! Please!"

I barely caught Kitty by the arm in time to yank her backwards and stop her from bolting around the corner at the sound of the children's cries.

They called out again, and I stole a swift glance to determine the situation. Three guards in military fatigues stood with impressive-looking automatic rifles. Their faces were empty, practiced at ignoring the pleas of the children. Heartless bastards.

At the other end of the hall, I caught a glimpse of John, Bobby, and Kurt approaching. Just as the guards noticed them, John pulled out his lighter. Telekinetically, I seized one of the guard's guns and knocked him out with a hard blow from the butt of the weapon. With ease, I tossed the other two into the wall, away from John's incoming blast of fire while simultaneously rendering them unconscious.

"I had them!" John shouted, clearly frustrated.

"You would have killed them," I told him as we rushed to the cell in which the children were imprisoned.

Kurt teleported into the chamber, taking hold of two of the students and teleporting out as Kitty phased through the bars and lowered herself to the damp ground. She picked up the smallest boy, and I lifted them out slowly as she phased them both. We repeated the process until all of them were free, and we started off in the direction from which John and the others had come.

As we skidded around another corner, a quake shook the tunnel and everything trembled. Loosened debris fell from the ceilings and walls. I stumbled forward to catch the youngest child of the lot who was thrown off-kilter by the tremors.

"What the hell was that?" John straightened up from his defensive, crouched position and peered suspiciously at our surroundings. I felt something hit my face that was soon after followed by the familiar, searing pain that had scarred my back.

I glanced up to see another drop of water escape a crack in the ceiling, stopping it before it could reach me.

"Oh, fuck a duck," I cursed. Without a second thought, I scooped the girl into my arms and began to run. Behind me, the others lifted the smallest of the children and followed after me. Jean, Storm, and Scott reached the chamber leading to the spillway at the same time as us, and with a nod from Scott, we started towards it, only for the doors to shut on us.

"You don't want to go that way. Trust me," came Logan's voice. His adamantium claws retracted from the control panel they had just annihilated. "Come on. There's another way out of here." He took off down yet another tunnel that was still unfamiliar to me. Ahead of me, I watched as he threw all of his weight against a door at the end of the hallway, and the bright light of day spilled into the darkness. Together, we stumbled out into the snow, struggling towards the Blackbird.

I felt the burning begin to creep upon my legs as my pants absorbed the moisture, and I was forced to hand the girl off to Scott before I dropped her in the snow. Jean was at my side, urging me forward as she, herself, limped through the slush.

We could hear the dam creak in the distance as it strained to hold back the water. Kurt began to gather the children, teleporting them into the plane one by one. He stayed with them, waiting as the rest of us toppled into the jet. Storm and Scott were quickly at the control panel, hitting switches and pressing buttons to get the jet into the air.

Their frantic movements set me on edge, and I could see Logan getting worried as well. "What's wrong?"

"The vertical thrusters are offline," Scott answered as calmly as he could.

Logan hovered behind them, staring at the controls of which he could make no sense. "So fix them," he growled.

Scott was prompt to snap back at him. "I'm trying!"

"They're functioning, but I don't know how long they're going to last." Storm's voice slowly faded into the background as I looked to Jean. I blocked out more of the chatter, watching her shift her gaze from Scott to Logan to Storm, all of whom were struggling to get the plane airborne.

Green eyes fell upon me, and I knew what she was planning. She didn't try to stop me as I followed her back down the ramp and towards the nose of the jet. I saw the dam break in my mind's eye, and as I looked back to the plane, I saw Scott sprinting towards the ramp exit. I watched as Jean raised it, effectively stopping him from rushing to us.

The water poured through the broken dam and barreled towards us as loud and even faster than a train. I stood my ground and focused all my attention and energy at the oncoming onslaught of water. Together, Jean and I forced it to circumvent the Blackbird, holding it off as she raised the plane into the air.

I watched her begin to glow, a fire ensconcing her form, and the task at hand seemed to turn into a walk in the park for her.

**I'm proud of you.**

An instant later, I felt something rip at me from my core, tugging and twisting the world around me. I threw my arms in front of me, feeling as if I would tumble forward, and when my hands connected with the ground, it was not snow and earth but the metal floor of the Blackbird. I hit the ground hard and heaved as the air seemed sucked from my lungs.

She was gone.

"Jules!" John clamored and seemed to trip over his own legs in his hurry to get to me. I felt him begin to lift me to my feet before a more forceful grasp grabbed hold of the lapels of my jacket—Jean's jacket—and thrust me against the wall.

"What did you do? Why didn't you stop her?" Scott shouted in my face. The world was slowly ceasing to spin around me, and I was once again dropped to the ground as Logan shoved Scott away from me. I heaved as the jet shifted in the air, and Logan's words continued to replay in my head.

She's gone.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I apologize for the lack of updates, folks. I fried my motherboard, processor, and needed a new battery on my laptop and had to have it sent out and my desktop doesn't have Word so I couldn't access my saved files on my external hard drive. But, I'm back and I hope you're ready for an update. As always, thanks for reading and please review!

* * *

Lightning flickered across the sky over the White House, and I wondered if they had made it inside already, if they had handed that file of Stryker's to the President and if they had succeeded in preventing a war from breaking out—for now anyways. Threats had reached the public, from both mutants and humans, and the earlier assassination attempt had only fanned the flames into greater destruction of trust and civility.

Kitty, John, and I had stayed aboard the plane with the younger students, all of whom had fallen asleep after their rather stressful ordeal. I watched as John's head bobbed forward and back as he attempted to stay awake, and flicked a small fireball at him to catch his attention. He looked at me groggily.

"Get some sleep, Pyro," I urged, hitching my chin in Kitty's direction to point out that she, too, had fallen into slumber. He nodded his head and allowed his eyes to close. His breathing slowed, and his face relaxed, and I knew he was in dreamland.

I pushed to my feet and tugged the black leather coat tighter around me as I stepped off the jet. Washington, D.C.—the pinnacle of political power of the U.S.A. and perhaps on a global scale, as well. There was nobody in sight, and so I walked. I walked until I reached civilization again and allowed myself to disappear amongst the hordes of humans unfazed by warnings by mutants against their kind. Nobody noticed me, and nobody questioned the disheveled young woman who most likely looked half-alive.

"You look like you could use some help," somebody said to me as I stumbled along the perimeter of a crowd. I flinched at the hand on my arm and jerked away. "Easy, it's okay. You're all right," the voice cooed. I turned to look at the woman speaking to me. She handed me a pamphlet for a women's shelter. "We're not far, and you can get cleaned up and have a hot meal and a safe place to sleep. Even if it's only for one night," she encouraged.

The weight of Jean's death plowed into me again, and I felt too numb to speak, so I merely nodded my head and began walking in the direction the woman had pointed. I found myself projecting thoughts haphazardly, hoping to hear the familiar voice in my mind, to feel that warmth again.

**Darling, must you shout so loudly?**

It wasn't fire that caressed my mind but ice that rammed against it. The experience was jarring, and I felt the frost encompass my mind, leading me in another direction against my will. My feet continued to carry me to a nearby apartment complex where a woman dressed (if you could call it _dressed_ with how little she wore) in all white stood.

"You're one of Xavier's," she stated simply, eyes raking across my body. She turned haughtily and began up the stairs and back into the building. With a piercing glance over her shoulder, she raised an eyebrow. "Come along, dear. Let's get you decent, hmm?"

I almost wanted to laugh at the irony of her statement, as I followed her inside by my own accord.

The apartment was upscale, though sparsely decorated with a hidden elegance in its simplicity. "Emma, what were you—" a second woman's voice called out. This other woman appeared holding two glasses of red wine. She starkly contrasted the first woman—Emma—with long, wavy brown hair and matching chocolate eyes. "Um, hello," she greeted awkwardly.

"Don't worry, Emily. I am merely offering the ragamuffin clothing and money before sending her on her way." Emma disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with this second stranger.

"So, how do you know Emma?"

"I don't," I answered with a shrug. Emily opened her mouth to say more but Emma reappeared with a bundle of clothing and a wad of cash, which she forced into my arms. "Thank you?" I said unsurely.

"When you see Scott, ask him if he still fantasizes about the White Queen." Those were her last words to me before she pushed me back out the door, and I was left in an even greater daze of confusion by the happening.

I didn't complain, however, when I noticed the clean slacks and shirt were my size, and ducked into a secluded alley to change as quickly as possible. I pulled the coat back on over the dry clothes before taking a better look at the roll of bills the strange woman had given me.

I am sure my eyes widened to the circumference of small saucers when I realized the bills bore Ben Franklin's face. I pulled a bill from the rest and shoved them into separate pockets, and shuffled out of the alleyway as inconspicuously as possible.

I found a place to rest for the night, tucked away in the tunnel of a children's playground in a nearby park. The sun had started to set and the park had already emptied save for a handful of teenagers enjoying rambunctious freedom.

Teenagers—I was a teenager, and yet I felt far older than the kids chugging light beer on the benches not far from me. Their lives were simpler than mine, unfettered by such hate and discrimination as I now faced—untainted by the loss of a connection so powerful it was indescribable. I envied them, and for the first time, I sincerely wished my powers away.

They weren't enough to save her.

I felt around in my pockets, searching for my cell phone that I thought I had brought with me. It seemed to vibrate knowingly as I pulled it out to see a text message from Kitty. _Jules, where are you? We're headed back to NY. The Professor says you'll come back when you're ready. Where are you? _I deleted the message and turned off the phone.

I wasn't brave and I wasn't strong; her faith was lost on me.

I looked out into the growing darkness outside of my small tunnel, and I hoped and prayed that somehow Jean wasn't truly gone.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Brownie points for those of you that knew the pairing of Emma and Emily from the previous chapter (it's a pairing created by the amazing writer Alsike with a crossover between "Criminal Minds" and "X-Men"). Here's another chapter for you.

* * *

"Well, look what we have here, boys!"

Whoops and hollers echoed loudly through the tunnel, waking me from my sleep, and I scrambled to crawl out of it. A strong grip grabbed me by the arms and pulled me the rest of the way out of the playground equipment, hoisting me to a standing position.

I blinked rapidly, trying to shake my sleepiness and understand the situation. A second later, I was back on the ground, oxygen knocked from my lungs by the force of me hitting the earth. I wheezed, all the while trying to summon the fire to chase away the thugs that surrounded me. When I did not feel the familiar spark, I began to flail, swinging my fists in an attempt to knock them away from me.

I cried out in pain as my left hand connected one of the men's jaws, the jolt sending painful vibrations into my still-healing shoulder. My hand felt as if it might have broken, as well. "Get off," I snarled, but pairs of hands grabbed my flailing limbs and pinned me down.

That's when I felt it—the surge of energy through my body. I felt my muscles tense painfully and my body arch upwards before that familiar spark became an explosion rippling through me. My assailants were thrown away from me, and for the first time, I struggled to contain the fire within me.

The flames sputtered in and out of existence, catching a nearby shrub on fire, which I extinguished as fast as possible. Each time they sparked alive, they seemed to fight between red and blue flames. I breathed deeply, centering myself enough to stop the flickering. My attackers had all but run away screaming, and I found myself alone again.

I felt the energy surge again, and I sprinted to the empty parking lot, away from any foliage or flammable materials, and sat down, curling into myself. The more I panicked, the more wild the fire became, and the more uncontrollable the fire, the greater the panic; the cycle felt ruthless, and I couldn't find enough solid ground to escape it.

I sat awake throughout the night, growing more and more exhausted as the fires shrunk from whipping tendrils to fizzling stutters of flame. The stampede of boots on asphalt snapped me from my half-conscious stupor, and I looked up to see a dozen men and women with S.W.A.T. vests surrounding me, guns trained on me.

"Don't move!"

All I could see were the guns. All I could see was Kitty being tranquilized and bullets firing at me. All I could see was death.

"I really… don't like guns… pointed at me," I grumbled. I could feel the energy surging again, and I clenched my eyes and fought it back down. Killing or merely harming these men would not help my case.

"FBI! Lower your weapons!" a voice called out. I recognized it as the woman from the previous night—Emily. The police officers reluctantly followed her command as more federal agents appeared, and she stepped forward, holstering her gun and holding out her hands unthreateningly. "Jules, right?" I looked at her, exhausted, and nodded my head almost imperceptibly. "Ororo is on her way. She's going to take you home." The fires flared again, and I heard the guns raise again, trained on me.

"I can't control it," I whispered.

She nodded in understanding. "I know." Another step brought her closer to me. "I know," she repeated. "These police officers really don't want to listen to me, right now, Jules. I need you to do your best to control it until she gets here."

"Jean's gone."

"I know, but you're still here."

_You need to be brave._ I choked back a sob, and somehow managed a nod. "Home."


	26. Chapter 26

"Goddamn it!" I roared, driving my fist into the wall for the third time. I kicked at the half-melted metal chair that now protruded from one of the walls before ripping it free with the strength of my mind. It soared across the room, clashing loudly as it echoed in the near-empty cell.

I dropped to my knees, breathing heavily, as I closed my eyes and tried to slow my heart. Surrounding me, I could still feel the uncontrollable flames flickering and sputtering in and out of existence. Minutes later, I had successfully drawn the fire back inside me.

I didn't understand what was happening with my mutation. Even the Professor seemed unsure, seeing the power of my abilities increase so greatly towards the end of my adolescent development. In the course of the week after I had returned from D.C., I continued to haphazardly set objects (and occasionally others' clothing) alight. The Professor explained that he believed the trauma of losing Jean caused a loss of control, triggering a latent strength that I would learn to manipulate as I regained control of myself and my emotions.

I slapped my palms against the ground.

Obviously I was still working on the self-control.

But the Professor's theory seemed valid, because during the week, as I mourned Jean and came to terms with her death, the fire returned to my control (for the most part). I still felt volatile, and when I let loose, so did the flames.

It was an accident that brought forth the current self-imprisonment. A simple mention of Jean in passing that caught me off-guard caused Kitty's sweater to catch fire. I was as quick to put it out as it was to light, but it still had left her burned and pained. I fled to the tunnels without a word to blow off steam and not threaten anybody else's life in the process.

I pushed to my feet and went to the door. When I opened it, I found Rogue shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, hand raised as if about to knock. Her gloved hand immediately dropped to her side. "Do you want to take a walk? With me?" she asked. She was nervous; I wondered if she was afraid of me.

I inhaled and exhaled audibly as I drew in a deep breath. "Lead the way."

I followed just behind her until we reached the outskirts of the Institute's property and sped up slightly to walk side-by-side. I thought the December air was crisp and cool, and I knew it was cold by the way Rogue was bundled up in a parka, scarf, and hat. My only second layer was the coat Jean had loaned me, and I still felt none of the frigid winter.

Dead leaves and broken twigs crunched beneath our feet as we walked the perimeter in silence. I cast a sidelong glance at her, wondering if she wished the silence or was waiting for me to speak. She exhaled a puff of oxygen, a cloud of fog hovering in front of her mouth for a brief second.

"I know what it's like to be afraid of hurting people with your powers. I know what it's like to be afraid of what you can do. And you… you're strong—like real strong. I know it's hard, but sometimes you just gotta accept it and move on. All of us believe in you."

_I have faith in you._

I nodded solemnly, wrapping my arms around myself before outstretching an open palm and igniting a small flame. The color flickered between red and blue as it had been since the occurrence in Washington. It felt different; different than the first time I struck one of my father's matches and cupped the fire in my hand. It wasn't even the same as it had been when I used my powers against the military that night. It felt less of a tool and more of an extension of me. In a way, my control and understanding of the fire was better than ever with the sputtering and accidents aside.

We stopped walking and she turned to look at me curiously. "Are you okay?"

I snorted. "Hardly." I squatted, studying the snow on the ground, coating the frozen earth. "I was out here yesterday, watching some of the younger kids enjoy snowball fights and building snowmen. It reminded me of all the times I couldn't join my friends in those activities after my mutation surfaced. But yesterday?" I dug my fingers into the snow, lifting it from the ground. "Yesterday I wanted to remember what snow felt like and I did this."

"Your hand isn't burning," she gasped.

"Whatever's happening to me, I'm changing."


	27. Chapter 27

"Okay, guys, time to draw names." Kitty attempted to settle the rambunctious group that had chosen to participate in the mansion's Secret Santa. "Guys." I bumped her gently in amusement, watching as the frustration played out across her face. "Guys!" she finally shouted, causing the chatter and roughhousing to stop. "We're going to draw names, now."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" One of the younger boys stood from his seat, saluted, and sat back down. I hurled the rook from my nearby chess game at his head but it missed as he collapsed into a blob of something before reconstituting back into his human form after he had cleanly avoided it.

"Jules," Ororo chided.

I wanted to close my eyes and pretend that it was Jean's voice and Jean's green eyes giving me the glare of the century. But it was still Storm, and while she was a maternal figure, she was not the maternal, sororal, friend, and confidant figure that Jean had been.

"Faculty gets to draw first," Kitty directed, holding out the hat filled with names. I moved it around the room for her, waiting for the participating teachers to collect their folded pieces of paper. Once Scott, Ororo, Hank, Kurt, and Logan drew their names, I passed it through the myriad of assembled students. One by one, they pulled names, some smiling, some frowning, and some scratching their heads. When I retrieved the hat, there were two left. I took one and Kitty took the last.

"All right, everybody. You know the rules—no telling until Christmas morning!" The younger students scampered off in all directions to secretly plan their gifts and count their pennies.

Storm approached the two of us and rested a hand on Kitty's arm with a smile. "Thank you for organizing this, Kitty."

"Yeah, thanks, kid," Logan said around the unlit cigar dangling from his mouth. Everybody offered similar sentiments as they wandered out of the game room to their own various corners of the mansion. I plopped the top hat on Kitty's head with a grin and flopped onto the nearest sofa.

"Do you want to head into town tomorrow?" I asked. "We've only got a week before Christmas." Kitty nodded, taking a seat on the armrest of the couch. "I was planning on heading to the bookstore and then the bakery."

"Why the bakery?" She poked at my feet with her index finger, attempting to get a laugh out of me.

I pulled my feet away from her and sat up. "The others are leaving after New Year's. I wanted to order them a farewell cake."

"You're not going to San Francisco?" She had on her confused face.

I shook my head. "No. We weren't really friends in St. Louis, and coming here… didn't really bring us any closer. I've got you, John, Bobby, and Rogue here. I'm not ready to displace myself again, anyways."

"I'm glad. We need somebody to keep John in line, the brat." I tossed a pillow at her, which she caught with ease and chucked back at me. I let it hit me in the face and allowed myself a laugh before dropping it to the ground. "So, tomorrow after breakfast?"

I gave her a thumbs-up, swinging my legs of the couch and standing. I shoved her gently with my telekinesis. "Don't have too much fun tonight, Pryde."

"Shut up, Torch," she called at my back as I made my way to the rear gardens of the grounds.

The granite grave-marker was harder to find unless you knew where to look (near the roses, across from the hydrangeas), and it was even harder to spot in the dark, but I knew its exact place, and it didn't take me long before I was moving away the snow and kneeling on the ground before it.

"Hey," I whispered. "We just drew names for this Secret Santa that Kitty's organizing. I pulled Kurt's name and I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to get him." I lowered myself onto my rear and tucked my legs against my body, resting my chin on my knees. "Scott and Logan miss you. They aren't saying much these days. Just kind of going about their business.

Logan has it harder, I think. He can't lie in your bed or touch your books or see your clothes to remember you. But Scott… he leaves the mansion at night. I'm not sure where he goes, and for once I'm demonstrating an adult maturity and not stalking him—I think you'd be proud."

I scooped a small handful of pebbles and placed them on the corner of the gravestone. "You connected us, in some way with all of that mental chatter. I let you in, and I trusted you. And now you're gone and there's this emptiness, and it hurts.

I spent most of my life without anybody really looking out for me or caring about me. My parents were absent and the help was always too busy. My teachers were swamped with the already overcrowded school, and I never really had any close friends. But then you… you wouldn't leave me alone, and you wouldn't let me be alone. I've got friends now—John, Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue—but they don't make the hurt go away. They try. But I miss you."

My vision blurred and I wiped at my face with my sleeve, drawing away the tears that had started to fall. I laughed—you know that laugh when you're crying and you realize the irony or the pain or just the sheer reality of your current situation? That laugh. I wiped away more of the tears.

"John asked me if I wanted to hook up with him. 'Hook up'. What happened to 'go steady'? I told him that I'd think about it, but I know it would fail miserably. The two of us, emotional and hotheaded, together seems like a recipe for disaster."

I allowed a blanket of silence to befall the garden, only interrupted by my occasional sniffles. "You could have saved yourself, too. You could have let me save you, or Kurt, or somebody. I hate you for not letting us. I hate that you're gone. All of us hate it."

I pulled my legs tighter against me and sat there, curled up until almost midnight. I glanced upwards, seeing the moon high in the sky, and I leaned forward, almost kowtowing. My palms against the stone, I pressed my forehead against it, tracing the letters with my forefinger.

I stood abruptly and left without saying goodbye.


	28. Chapter 28

"Are you ready to go yet?" I questioned between chews of a mouthful of bagel and cream cheese. Leaning against the doorframe of Kitty's room, I watched as she fidgeted with the collar of her turtleneck before pulling on a peacoat and grabbing a scarf.

"Hold your horses, Jules. Some of us have to wear layers of clothing not to freeze to death." Kitty adjusted the scarf around her neck and pulled on a pair of leather gloves. "All right, let's go." She grabbed her purse, and we were off.

The garage seemed oddly empty. There were fewer bikes and fewer cars with most students having gone home for the holiday. And with it being Saturday, there were even fewer as groups headed off to the mall and elsewhere for last minute shopping. Scott and the Professor were even out searching for an appropriately large Christmas tree for the foyer.

I moved towards my motorcycle, stopping when I glanced back at Kitty who had her hands on her hips and a raised eyebrow. "Jules, the roads are icy. There's snow. We're going shopping and there are going to be bags. We are not taking your motorcycle." She grabbed the keys to my truck off one of the hooks and plopped herself in the driver's seat.

"Why do you get to drive my truck?" I slid into the cab beside her and clicked my seatbelt.

"Because last time we were in this truck, you thought it would be a good idea to sleep in it in one of the slummiest slums of New York City."

I didn't argue and leaned back in my seat as she flipped on the radio to some campy Christmas carol station. It didn't take long to pull into town—finding a parking space took longer, probably.

"These people are crazy!" Kitty exclaimed, finally pulling into a parking spot big enough for my truck.

"Maybe we should start screaming 'Mutant terrorists'. I'm sure the stores would clear out pretty fast if the baselines heard that." She stared at me, not amused. "Right. Bookstore?"

The used bookstore, with books piled and stacked all the way to the ceiling, cramming every nook and cranny of the small building, was less than crowded. "People always want new books, never old these days," the owner had lamented when we entered. "It's good to see young folks interested in the old."

I ignored him, as did Kitty, and we went our separate ways within the small but cluttered store. I found myself drifting to a rather disorganized section on German literature. I lifted a dusty hardcover off of one of the set aside stacks. The pages were colored and frail, some ripped and torn and others all the way removed. The words were still clear, and would have been even clearer to me had they been in English and not in German. I imagined, however, that the fuzzy blue mutant from Berlin would have little objection to anything in German. The thought that counts, right?

"You're looking for Kafka," a young voice noted from behind another shelf. "_A Hunger Artist_—that will be what will make your friend happy."

"Ruth! Come sweep the floor!" the owner's voice called out, and the girl was scurrying off before I could ask her how she knew. Instead of following after her, I searched through row after row of books, behind them, on top of them, until I finally came across book with Franz Kafka's name across the top. It was, indeed, in German, which made discerning the title a little more difficult, but I hoped with 'hunger' being in _Ein Hungerkünstle,_ I had the correct novella.

Kitty's disembodied head appeared through the bookshelf beside me. "I'm ready to go when you are."

She was lucky I didn't set the entire place on fire with how she spooked me.

"Meet you at the cashier." She nodded and disappeared back through the wall. I leaned my forehead against the dusty shelves, regretting it when I stirred up a cloud of dust and sneezed what felt like ten times in a row.

Kitty already had her purchase paid for and bagged as I approached the counter and slid the book towards the owner. "Good choice, good choice," he murmured, ringing up the item. I paid for it and slid it into my satchel.

"Thanks," I waved as we left the small bookstore.

"That girl was a precog," Kitty said nonchalantly as we walked down the sidewalk towards the bakery.

"That girl was strange. I saw her talking to herself when we went in." I shoved my hands into my pockets and glanced up at the sky. It was overcast and gray, and it was probably going to snow later.

"Doesn't mean she wasn't a precog." Kitty bumped against me playfully, so I reached out to ruffle her hair. She smacked my hand away and pointed a finger at me. "Not cool." I smirked and reached for the bakery door, holding it open for her. "What kind of cake do you want to get for them anyways?"

I grabbed one of the pamphlets off a nearby table and opened it up. "I always liked red velvet."

"With cream cheese?" I nodded. "Good choice." She grabbed a number from the dispenser, even though there were only three other people waiting. "Do you want anything while we're here? My treat."

I shook my head and re-folded the pamphlet and placed it back on the table. "So why aren't you going home for Christmas?"

She shrugged, rolling the small piece of paper with our number into a ball. "I love my parents, but I've spent Christmas at the Institute ever since I first came here. It just feels like tradition."

"My parents made a statement that they had sent me away to a special school for gifted students to finish up my senior year. Swept under the rug like dirt." I wrung my hands together, feeling the itch to spark a flame. "I wish these people would hurry the fuck up," I grumbled. The woman in front of me swiveled her head and gave me a stern glare. I quickly apologized, and focused on the fact that there were only two people in front of us now.

"Hey, are you okay?" I flinched as Kitty wrapped an arm around me. "Hey, hey. I can order the cake. Do you want to wait for me in the truck?" I nodded dumbly and gave her a handful of bills before bolting into the open air and back towards the parking lot where we started.

I found myself with staggered breath as I climbed into the truck. It wasn't long after when Kitty pulled open the driver's door and slid inside. "Bad memories of Christmases past." She gave me a questioning look. "Don't ask."

"Okay. Not asking. Are you all right, though?"

"Yeah. Peachy."

She ignited the engine and we were on our way home without further conversation.


	29. Chapter 29

Silence. It seemed to define my life somehow. That which existed between what was said or that which never was said. Those awkward moments. The pervading loneliness.

It crept up on everybody in the week leading to Christmas as we became so preoccupied with our own plans that we spent less time with others. It was a reminder of being away from family or even having family that didn't want us. But decorations went up, and the tree was set in place on the eve of Christmas, and we gathered to decorate it together as a family, and the loneliness faded a little bit.

Kurt was perched atop the stairway banister, juggling Christmas globes as Rogue and I strung up the garland as far as we could until we had to resort to powers. Scott was fiddling with getting music sounding, while John jerked off with starting a fire. Kitty handed out marshmallows to the younger students, helping them safely skewer them in preparation for making s'mores as soon as John cooperated. Logan was off fetching eggnog (probably spiking it, too), and the others were scattered around the first level of the mansion, hanging more decorations or putting last minute touches on their gifts and cards.

I heard the melody of Dexter Gordon's "Christmas Song" croon from the stereo system, and a minute later, it was accompanied by the sound of Scott struggling to drag the tall ladder in from the garage. I stepped away from the tree to help him, but he shook his head at me and stumbled a step before setting it down (apparently where he wanted it, anyways).

"So, who's putting the star on the tree this year?" he asked, producing a large, ornate star.

"Rogue?" I cast a glance at the others who nodded in agreement.

"Rogue it is, then." Scott handed the ornament to Rogue, who shifted awkwardly before stepping up to the ladder, taking each rung slowly. I readied myself to catch her in case she slipped. Without fail, however, she set the star atop the tree and slowly backed down the ladder. "Looks good, Marie."

"Well, I think a little electricity is in order." Storm nodded her head in the direction of another one of the older students. "Jubilee?" The girl in question connected the plugs for the various strings of lights, and in an instant, the room was aglow with multi-colored beams. Ornamental globes reflected a renewed sense of holiday cheer.

John, Kitty, and the younger children rushed to get a better look at the decorated tree. I leaned against John, smiling as he wrapped an arm around me and held me close. We had discussed it; we were friends only, now and forever, and I was satisfied with the resolution. We looked on at the tree as the song shifted to another jazzed Christmas classic by Ella Fitzgerald.

"All right!" Storm clapped her hands together. "Time for all good children and adults to go to bed so Santa can stop by and leave his gifts." I hovered downstairs along with Ororo and Scott to finish cleaning up s'more remnants, ornament boxes, and other items left askew during the evening's festivities. It was a quarter to eleven when I finally headed towards the staircase, pausing to look at the tree once more before sleep.

All through the night, the pitter-pat of feet on the floors outside the bedrooms sounded as everybody slipped downstairs to set out their presents. I laid in bed, in that half-asleep, half-awake state, until just after four before I gathered my gifts and crept down the stairs.

By that time, the mounds of presents were overflowing, and it was difficult to find a place for my gifts. "There's some room over here." Kitty appeared from the other side of the tree, phasing through it and the pile of wrapped boxes and bags. "Here—" She held out her hands for the boxes I had in my arms. I handed them to her and she tucked them away beneath the tree.

"Is that everything?" she asked. I nodded and watched her move away from the massive tree and presents and meander into the sitting room. She curled up on the sofa beside the fireplace, a large quilt draped over her. "Come join me." I crossed the hallway into the room and took a seat next to her, sliding under the blanket before sending a spark of flame into the fireplace, igniting a roaring fire within it. Her hand found mind and she tugged me into a laying position behind her, creating an effective, if involuntary, spoon. "Merry Christmas, Jules," she whispered groggily.

"Merry Christmas, Kitty."


	30. Chapter 30

"Kitty, Jules," a voice spoke softly. I felt Kitty stir in my arms and opened my eyes to see the Professor's gentle eyes on us. "Good morning and happy Christmas."

"What time is it?" I asked, sitting up carefully so as to avoid knocking Kitty off the sofa. A quick glance at the fireplace and I noticed the wood still smoldering.

"Just before seven," he replied. "I thought you two deserved a gentler waking than the younger students might have provided when they come down those stairs in a few minutes."

Kitty had informed me that the mansion had a Christmas morning rule to prevent five in the morning wake-ups; you weren't allowed to open any presents until after breakfast, and breakfast was not until seven. And after just under three hours of sleep, I was thankful for it.

"Thanks," I offered groggily, pulling the blanket off and wrapping it around Kitty's shoulders as she shivered. I focused on the fire, reigniting it for the morning festivities. He gave simple smile before wheeling off towards wherever he went.

"You hungry?" I turned to Kitty who was still wiping the sleep from her eyes. She nodded dumbly and I pushed to my feet, pulling her up with me. "Think they'll have blueberry pancakes?" With a yawn and a roll of her eyes, I took her response as, _How the hell would I know?_

The line in the cafeteria was filled with the youngsters who had stayed at the mansion. They eagerly (and noisily) chatted away as they filed through the buffet tables that the kitchen staff had set up. I wanted to go straight for the coffee, but even that had a line.

I leaned helplessly (and probably pathetically) against Kitty who merely patted my back in consolation.

"Here you are, my ladies," John's voice interrupted my melodrama. I glanced at him, noting he was holding two mugs outstretched for us. "Coffee for Jules and hot chocolate for Kitty."

"John Allerdyce, you are a saint," I told him, taking the steaming hot mug from him.

"That's me—Saint John Allerdyce." I would have smacked him for his smartass comment had he not just brought me coffee (and if my hands weren't preoccupied holding said coffee).

"Thanks, John," Kitty smiled, carefully sipping (slurping) her cocoa.

"No problem. I snagged us a table in the corner." He hitched his thumb towards a table near the window where Rogue and Bobby already sat with trays of food in front of them. "Join us when you get your food, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded, and he flashed us a smile before swaggering back to the table.

"One of these days," Kitty began, "he's going to get you in so much trouble."

"Are you sure it won't be the other way around?" We reached the food, at least, and I handed a tray to Kitty and began piling food onto my own.

"Go easy on the bacon. They've got your blueberry pancakes, Torch." She elbowed me and pointed them out at the end of the table. I continued to fill a small plate with the greasy breakfast items and just flashed her a playful grin. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack."

"I've gotta eat it while I can, kitten." I took a gulp of my coffee before setting the mug on the tray. I was, thankfully, starting to feel more awake (and more alive) as we continued through the line. I stacked a few of the pancakes on my plate with a satisfied smile and headed towards John's table with Kitty following suit.

As soon as I set my tray down, the others were reaching for the pieces of bacon and I turned to Kitty. "I plan ahead." I tapped my nose knowingly and took a seat beside John.

"I was thinking we could grab our presents from under the tree and open them in the library after the Secret Santa. There's a fireplace in there, and it'll probably be empty," Bobby said in between bites of my bacon and his toast. Mumblings of 'Sounds good to me', 'That's fine', and 'All right' escaped from our mouths as we continued to eat.

"Crap!" I heard Kitty swear. She pushed back from the table and climbed onto her chair. "Attention everybody!" she shouted over the chatter in the cafeteria. It quieted quickly, unlike the week before. "We'll start opening Secret Santa gifts just after eight, so finish up your meals by then and start gathering in the game room." She hopped down from her chair and resumed her seat as the chitchat began once more. "Next year, remind me not to volunteer to organize it," she grumbled.

As soon as I finished my breakfast, I felt Kitty's hand jerk me away from the table. "John'll clear your tray. You're helping me distribute the gifts." I allowed myself to be dragged to the foyer where students and faculty had already begun to gather. My job, as assistant distributor, was to telekinetically lift gifts out of the way so Kitty could find the ones she wanted, handing them out to folks as they appeared.

It was just after eight when all the Secret Santa gifts were handed out, which still left a rather large pile under the tree as the gifts between friends (aside from the Secret Santa) remained. "Okay. We're all going to be patient and open the presents one by one. If you want to step forward as the giver, that's fine. If not, that's cool, too. We all set on the rules?" Everybody nodded at Kitty's instructions.

We went around the room, taking turns at opening the anonymous (and sometimes not anonymous) gifts. The gifts ranged from jewelry to books to toys and even cigars (for Logan, of course). I watched Kurt's face as his turn came and he slowly tore away the newspaper I had used to wrap his gift. His eyes grew wide as he uncovered the book.

"Danke! Danke!" His eyes scanned the small crowd, searching for the gift giver. I raised my hand slightly with a smile, and a moment later, I found myself inhaling the smoke created by his teleportation as he reappeared in front of me and pulled me into a fierce hug. "Danke!" he said again, as I hugged him back. He teleported back to his previous seat, still with a beaming smile on his face.

The cycle of opening and thanks continued until only Kitty and I were left with unopened gifts. "Go ahead," she urged.

"It's from me, kid." Logan lifted his chin in acknowledgment as I began to tear away the wrapping paper.

It was a new motorcycle helmet, and it was far more expensive than I expected anybody to spend on a Secret Santa gift. And while there hadn't been a limit on how much we could spend, the cost a brand new modular helmet by Shoei was up there. Way up there.

I turned the anthracite-colored helmet in my hands and smiled softly at Logan. "Thanks." He offered his own version of a smile and nodded.

"And last but not least…" Kitty said as she opened her gift. It was a plush dragon from one of the younger girls, and Kitty quickly hugged it against her chest, thanking the girl who was blushing sheepishly at her job well done.

"Thanks, everybody, for participating. I hope you guys had fun." A chorus of thanks echoed to Kitty once again for organizing the gift exchange. Kitty and I began gathering the trash left as the group began separating once more.

"Don't worry about it, you two. We'll clean up," the Professor told us. "I believe the others are waiting for you." He nodded his head to motion at something (somebody) behind us. John, Bobby, and Rogue were already gathering our gifts to head to the library.

"Thanks, Professor," Kitty chirped. I nodded my head in agreement before following after Kitty who was moving to help John with his load.

It only took one trip thanks to my telekinesis, and I was surprised at the amount of presents there were between the five of us. We spread out on the furniture near the fireplace within the library, our own stacks of presents sitting beside us.

"Are we taking turns or just digging in?" John asked, already fingering the loose flap of a wrapped box.

"I say just open them," Bobby said. At that, John tore open the gift I had meticulously wrapped. His face twisted into an un-amused scowl.

"Ha, ha." He lifted the box to show to us—a LEGO city fire truck.

"If you'd bothered to open the card first," I scolded, "you'd know you also got a gift card." He hurled a fireball at me, which I easily caught and dispersed.

"Hey, hey, hey! No fire in the library!" Kitty threw wads of gift wrap at both of us.

"That one's from me." John pointed at the small box in my hands, though I could easily have discerned it on my own by the chicken scrawl of _'To Jules, From John'_.

It was a small tin case, and I knew what it was as soon as I saw the brand logo embossed in the metal. I lifted the lid, revealing a matte black Zippo with a white wolf painted on it. I pulled it out of the case and swiveled it in my hand, and with a smooth flick of my finger, flipped the lid open and sparked the flint. The sound was familiar—that flip-click that I had grown used to being around John. The presence of the flame (I figured John must have filled it with lighter fluid before wrapping it) made my skin twitch, and I drew it into my palm with ease. It morphed from a small flickering flame into a fluidly dancing ball of fire. I closed my fingers around it, extinguishing it.

"Thanks, John." I padded across the rug and gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek before pocketing the lighter.

"Jules, this is awesome," Rogue said, catching my attention. She and Bobby were holding the gift certificate I had given them. It was to an upscale restaurant in the city, and hopefully enough to cover both of their meals and a shared dessert. "This is really, really generous." And it was paid for by the woman in D.C. who I would one day pay back once I had access to my trust fund.

"I hope you two put it to good use."

"We will," Bobby assured me.

I opened my gift from Bobby and Rogue—an old Polaroid camera—and thanked them for it, quickly snapping a photo of the two of them together, smiling with the warm light of the fire reflecting off their faces.

Kitty nudged me to open my last that was from her. "You first." My gift was the last unopened gift sitting in her lap. She shook her head. "Together, then." In unison, we ripped away the colorful (possibly gaudy) paper from our respective gifts. Beneath the paper was a copy of Kurt Vonnegut's _Slapstick_. I flipped open the book and found Kitty's handwriting. 'You're never alone,' she had written.

My gift seemed horridly bland to me after receiving her gift.

She held the gold chain in her hands, studying the minute pendant carefully. "It's St. Christopher," I explained. "The Patron Saint of travelers. I know I'm not Catholic or a religious sort at all, but I know that sometimes I just want to believe that somebody's watching over me."

"Help me with it?" She opened the clasp and handed it to me, turning slightly and lifting her hair out of the way. I fastened it with ease around her neck, and she pulled me into a hug. "Thanks, so much. Do you like your gift? I wasn't sure which ones you didn't have and which one you'd like best."

"It's wonderful," I assured her, resting my hand on the book's cover. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: I want to thank all of my readers, and especially those of you that have reviewed (you get an 'especial thanks' If you review, too (that's a wink and a nudge)). For those of you unaware, this story is actually finished, and I am slowly updating it chunks at a time. I am in the middle of writing a sequel, loosely based on the events of the second and third sequels I had written to the original story. It might be a while for you to see it, but I wanted to let you know… hopefully you'll stay with me through that. Anyways, long author's note is long. I hope you enjoy this chapter (and review!).

* * *

Christmas came and Christmas went, leaving most of us in a gorged state of slothfulness. We had spent most of the day lounging in the library, venturing out for food, as well as the impromptu snowfall that Storm had provided.

It was a welcome opportunity to set aside the hellish events within the past month, and most of us allowed our minds to succumb to the playful endeavors of our friends (really family). And while I did not participate in the snowball fights out of habit, I watched on in amusement as Bobby, Kitty, and Storm dominated all the other participants.

It was later that Kitty conned me into building a snowman with her, shoving a pair of leather gloves into my hands in earnest. "C'mon, Torch, when was the last time you built a snowman?"

I had, in fact, never built a snowman. We received snow in St. Louis. I had memories of watching it fall outside my window while being far too young and too small to play outside without the supervision of my never-present parents. By the time I was old enough to venture out alone, puberty—and with it, my mutation—had set in.

I slipped the gloves onto my hands, and together we managed to make a Kitty-sized snowman. It was fit with pebble eyes and a pebble mouth, stick arms, and a pinecone nose. The top hat we had used for the Secret Santa drawing rounded out his head, and one of Logan's cigars finished it in a perfect (if not humorous) fashion.

Most of the afternoon was spent outside until Christmas dinner was ready. In the cafeteria, two long tables had appeared, draped and dressed in the same fancy manner that I was used to at home. Places were set and food seemed more than abundant. As we took our seats, I was soon distracted by loud snaps. I watched as other students and teachers began to laugh and don silly paper hats, and it was then that I noticed the wrapped tube sitting beside my plate.

Kitty picked it up and held out one end to me. "They're Christmas crackers. The Professor always sets them out for Christmas dinner. Here—pull that end." I looked at her skeptically but obeyed and pulled as she did. With a loud pop, not unlike that of a cap gun, the cardboard tube opened and inside I discovered my own hat, a small toy, and a joke as bad (but funny) as those on Laffy Taffy wrappers.

I had experienced extravagant Christmas dinners before. I had sat at pristine and exquisite dining tables with a beautifully cooked bird on the table and a multitude of side dishes to pair perfectly with it. But, in my seventeen years, never before had I actually had somebody (and especially not a group) sitting at the table with me.

All of us helped to clear the tables until the kitchen staff shooed us away, at which point we retreated to the game room. I curled up near the fire with my new copy of _Slapstick_ and read while stealing glances around the room. The Professor was playing a game of chess with Ororo, while a group of younger students were working on a rather large jigsaw puzzle spread out on the rug. Card games were being played and bets were being taken on the game of pool where Logan was easily beating John and Bobby. A second look around the room and I realized Scott was absent.

I stood, brushing off my pants and wandered to the back doors. I could see the top of Scott's head, and I knew where he was. I pressed my fingers against the cold glass of the windows, and I wished that Jean was here.

I retreated back to my room after that, opting for sleep after having so little the night before. I had thought myself into a funk, as I lifted the duvet over my head. Even without Jean, it was still the best Christmas I had ever had.

The fun, however, was apparently not over.

It was just after midnight when I heard knocking at my door. "Jules!" John called out in a loud whisper.

Susan rolled over sleepily. "Jules, who's at the door?"

"It's just John. Go back to sleep." When I didn't hear anything else from her, I slipped out of bed and grabbed my (Jean's) coat and some shoes. As soon as I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me, a pair of ice skates was thrust into my arms. "John, what the hell?"

"Just come on." He grabbed my hand and led me to the back of the mansion where (I assumed) Bobby had created an ice rink. He was already on the rink, carefully leading Rogue around, while Kitty was skating backwards and doing jumps in the center of the ice.

John plopped into the snow, kicking off his boots and lacing his own skates with practiced ease. I hesitantly took a seat beside him and pulled on the skates he had handed me earlier.

"Can you skate?"

I frowned, tugging at the shoelaces as I weaved them slowly around the hooks. "It's been a while. Ice and I haven't really gotten along in the past." He took over tying my skates as soon as he finished with his and helped me back to my feet. "John, I'm really not sure this is the best idea," I told him as he led me onto the ice.

"We won't let anything bad happen. Will we Bobby?"

Bobby glanced up from his intent focus on Rogue's own sense of equilibrium. "Nothing bad," he responded and returned his attention to Marie.

I allowed John to glide me in circles a few times before I insisted that I wanted to try on my own. It only took me a second before I realized my tailbone was going to be unhappy with me as I ungracefully slipped and landed on my butt. A laugh escaped Kitty's lips, earning her a quick glare from me. She merely continued to grin as she skated to me and pulled me back into a standing position.

"Relax," she whispered, tapping me on the nose. "It's supposed to be fun."

Ultimately, Kitty and John took turns leading me around for the hour we spent outside. As the time flew, Rogue and Kitty grew too cold to stay outside, so we called it a night (for the second time) and returned to the warmth of the mansion and our own beds.


	32. Chapter 32

I barely dodged the piece of cake flying at my head. Paul wiped his hands (mostly) clean of the cake and frosting with a satisfied smirk.

"That's for trying to light my hair on fire yesterday."

I sliced into my own piece of cake, taking a small bite. "You know, I paid good money for this cake," I told him.

It was our New Year's Eve celebration and farewell party and we had set up a fire pit on the outskirts of the Institute's grounds. The Professor had allowed us a bottle of champagne to share (but only this once, he claimed), and we were (classily) passing it around and drinking without glasses. With cake and s'mores, it was downright elegant.

"It's a very tasty cake, Jules," Hannah assured me as she set aside her already empty plate.

"So, when are you going to visit us?" Sarah asked, taking a swig from the bottle before passing it on to Paul.

I reached into the fire pit we had set up and moved one of the smoldering logs slightly. "I'll visit when I can hitch a ride on the jet," I told her. I removed my hand from the fire, satisfied with the size of the flames.

I took the bottle from Paul, reading the label before passing it on without a drink. I looked to Sarah. "Do you remember when you first saw me use my powers?"

"It was what—ninth grade?"

"Tenth. I was fifteen," I corrected.

"Yeah. We were in biology together with Mrs. Crawford. We were taking a field trip to the natural history museum. It was raining."

"The bus driver swerved to avoid hitting a cyclist, but the streets were so wet that we drifted and skidded down a hill into the woods. You were busy trying to help everybody out of the bus, and it caught fire."

Susan leaned forward to grab a giant marshmallow to skewer. "I remember that. It was all in the news, and everybody said it was a miracle that nobody was seriously injured. You're the one that put out the fire, Jules?"

I nodded. "They said it was the rain that doused it, but it was me with some help from Mrs. Crawford."

"Did you know about us?" Paul asked, motioning at himself and Hannah. "Before we followed you that day?"

"There were rumors about a lot of people, but I never heard any about you two." I shook my head. "Or you, Susan. You three probably could have kept it a secret longer. You might not have had to run."

They shrugged. "What's done is done," Paul said. "I mean, you know I contacted my parents within that first week, right?" I nodded. I knew he had, as had Susan, but I never knew the actual outcomes of those conversations. They were still at the mansion; I assumed their parents had told them not to come home. "They'd been talking with Hannah's parents, too. I told them where I was, where Hannah was, and they were happy for us—that we'd found a place where we fit in."

I hadn't expected that.

I'd contacted my folks at the Professor's behest the day I ended up in the infirmary because of that damned water balloon. They hadn't realized I was gone, and when I explained to them the situation, they told me that no daughter of theirs was a mutant, a freak. They were prestigious people; they could not have created such a thing. That's when they'd made the public statement about me being shipped off to some preparatory school for gifted students. Yeah. _Gifted_.

I called the bank the next day and had my accounts disconnected from my parents'. My trust fund was mine at twenty-one, I learned, no matter if my parents disowned me or if my DNA carried the mutant gene. I was no more on my own than I had been in St. Louis, but hearing the words from my parents was still a slap in the face. They weren't there for me before, but now they really weren't available.

I was dead to them.

Hannah drew me from my thoughts with a thrown marshmallow, which I popped into my mouth. "Are you sure you don't want to come to San Francisco with us?" Her eyes were hopeful. We still weren't close friends, but we'd come this far together. I'd brought them here.

"I feel like this is where I'm supposed to be. Maybe someday I'll join you on the west coast, but for now, I'm comfortable here."

"We'll miss you, you know."

The rest of the evening was filled with more drinking and more chicanery. We shot off small fireworks and played with sparklers before returning to the mansion where everybody else was celebrating in a similar fashion.

It was a bittersweet night, and as we watched the ball drop on the television screen, and as we counted down, I wondered, pessimistically, what the new year would bring.


	33. Chapter 33

As February came and the month began drifting towards March, the school had settled into a comfortable complacency. Classes continued, and new students arrived and some students left. Storm's absence was blatantly noticeable during the few weeks after she (and the others) had left for San Francisco, but all of us adapted, and as time passed, I stopped expecting to see a flash of white hair as I turned the corner.

I still expected to see a flash of red hair.

It was just after Valentine's Day (John bought me a rose and a box of chocolates, and I bought him lighter fluid) when the hallucinations started. The first time, I thought I saw her turn a corner. The sight was so life-like that I dropped my books and took off down the hallway, but she wasn't there—nobody was there. The second time, she was sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the library. I saw her out of the corner of my eye and when I turned to look completely, she wasn't there. The third time, I was standing at her headstone, and I saw her on one of the balconies, looking down at me. By the time I ran inside and yanked open the doors, she was gone again.

I thought I was going mad.

The Professor sent Logan and Scott back to Alkali Lake, just to take a look around. We didn't expect them back until late in the evening, but all of us were hoping they would find something—something to brighten the day.

I lay awake in bed in my now-single room. Insomnia fueled by thoughts of Jean and home and my future kept me from sleep.

I rolled over and pulled open the drawer of my bedside table, my fingers searching blindly in the dark. My fingertips brushed against the cool metal, and I grasped the lighter tightly in my hand. I clicked it open and closed, open and closed. It was my own (annoying) lullaby. I flicked the flint, and soon a warm light cast shadows through the room.

I saw her in the hallway through my partially-opened door.

"Jean?"

She didn't disappear as I nearly fell from my bed and stumbled to the door. I tripped into the hall and caught a glimpse of her moving down the stairs. She was still visible when I reached the top of the staircase, and I saw her moving towards the patio doors. My feet couldn't move fast enough as I took the stairs as fast as possible.

When I reached the landing and glanced out the window, I saw her moving past the pool and into the gardens. "Jean!" I tore through the doors after her. I skidded beside the pool; the ground was slick with snow and ice.

It felt like it was happening in slow-motion—something dramatic like a scene from one of the "Matrix" films. I saw myself slip, watched as I fell sideways and could see the water rising to meet me.

Time flashed forward as I crashed through the ice. I felt my head jerk as the back of my skull collided with the side of the pool on the way in, and my whole body felt on fire.

They say you see stars when you hit your head hard enough. I'd seen plenty of Looney Tunes seeing stars and little bluebirds circling their heads after being smashed with an anvil or hammer. You think it's a joke, just a phrase. But I saw stars, and I saw spots. And I saw Jean.

She appeared before me beneath the water, surrounded by fire.

** Jean… **

The black spots overcame my vision, and I felt myself inhale a gulp of water before blacking out.


	34. Chapter 34

"Jean?"

I turned in a slow circle, taking in my surroundings. I was back in Lincoln Park, this time without Paul or Hannah with me, without my truck or my motorcycle. The park was barren, void of any other human life. I was utterly alone.

I collapsed onto a nearby bench, wondering what hellish dimension I had found myself in. I wondered if I had died, if being alone for eternity was my version of hell, suffering for the damage I had caused, the lives I had taken.

I let myself cry. I shook as I sobbed. I hyperventilated as I tried to breathe.

But then I felt it. That surrounding warmth. It was my own, and it was somebody else's. Hers.

The fire surrounding me burned all shades of blue fringed with green. It was almost indescribable. And then I saw her, Jean, approaching me from the distance. A fiery aura blazed around her, and in the writhing flames, I saw the majestic being that I had always admired and always dreamt of.

"The Phoenix…" I breathed.

She was in front of me before I knew it, and the flames were gone from both of us, and it was just Jean and it was just me.

"Jules," she said with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I need you to come back to us."

I looked at her, confused. "I deserve to be here. I killed those soldiers. I couldn't save you. I wasn't good enough." I dropped my head, choking back a new wave of tears.

Jean shook her head at me, her hand coming to rest beneath my chin. She lifted my gaze, my grey eyes finding her green. "You don't deserve to be here. Trapping yourself here, alone, may be some twisted idea of punishment, but think of the suffering you'll cause your friends. What about John and Kitty? Bobby and Rogue? There are still people in the world that need you. All of us have made difficult choices, and not always the best decisions were made. Do you remember what I told you?"

I nodded.

"You need to be brave, and you need to be strong. I have faith in you."

She held out her hand for me, palm up. "Come with me. Come back to us."

Hesitantly, I reached for her outstretched hand. "I'm not sure I can do this," I whispered.

"I believe in you."

I closed my hand around hers, and a white, searing light filled me from the inside out.

My body arched as I gulped in enough air to fill a balloon. A persistent and repetitive beeping drew my attention to the heart monitor beside my bed—a heart monitor attached to me, along with a slew of other tubes and computer screens.

My eyes burned and were out of focus as I tried to make sense of what had happened. A figure hovered over me, smoothing my hair on my head.

"I believe in you," it said. Jean said.

And slowly the world sharpened again, and there she was. John and Kitty were standing near the doorway with the Professor sitting in his chair beside them.

"You gave us quite a scare, Jules," Charles offered with the kind smile I had seen many times before.

I barely heard his words as I reached out to grab Jean's hand. "You're alive. You're here and you're alive." My exclamations were not the most resounding statements from my raspy and dry throat. The statements were barely audible, but she had heard them and she nodded.

"So are you," she grinned.

I looked around the room once more. "So I am."


	35. Epilogue

We never wished nor asked to be what we had become. We were statistical anomalies, a fraction of a fraction. The world might not be ready for us, but we were alive and we were here to stay.

We could not fault ourselves for what was out of our control. Every so often, by a power not wholly of us, evolution leaps forward, and we were the product of it.

Mutants. _Homo superiors._

We were not to blame for the world's unease, but we were responsible for how we dealt with it. We had to be comfortable with our lives, our pasts, our presents, and our futures, before we could be comfortable with ourselves and teach others that there was little to fear.

I stood amongst the rows of headstones of Arlington National Cemetery, looking upon a grave with fresh flowers in its vase. It was the fourth grave I had stood over that afternoon, and I hoped those four would be the only ones for the rest of eternity.

They were the graves of the soldiers I had killed—the tombs of fathers, sons, brothers, and cousins. They were parts missing from a family—parts I had taken away.

I had not yet forgiven myself for the deaths of the men that night, but I had come to accept that it was part of my past. The men died while fighting for what they believed in, just as I would have died fighting for Kitty that night. We were both honorable parties, and we did what we thought must be done. My actions were not excusable, but they were understandable.

"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil." I kneeled to the ground, placing a small white candle beside the marker as I had for the other men. I ran my hand beside the wick, lighting it with ease. "May this fire protect you and guide you home."

Jean stepped up behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder. She canted her head back towards the car. "Come on. Let's get out of here." I stood, and her hand stayed on my shoulder, guiding me and reassuring me.

As she led me out and away from the cemetery, I cast one last glance, eyes easily finding the headstones I had just visited. I apologized one last time, and it was done.

* * *

**A/N:** **Happy** **Christmas and happy holidays to all of you. Thank you for keeping with me through this story. It was a very fun re-write, and I hope all of you enjoyed it. The reviews and the favorites and the alerts were fantastically appreciated. You are all awesome readers.**


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